


The Oracle

by Imogen_Penn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Indiana Jones Series, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Mummy Series, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, The Indiana Jones / the Mummy AU you didn't know you needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imogen_Penn/pseuds/Imogen_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Steven Rogers is headed to Greece to pursue an ancient artifact that could mark the pinnacle of his archaeological career. Saddled with the inexperienced Ms. Lewis, and pursued by agents of his villanous competitor Loki Laufeyson, what he finds is beyond his wildest imaginings...and it may cost them their lives...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uxmal, Mexico - August 1933

_Tell the emperor that my hall has fallen to the ground. Phoibos no longer has his house, nor his mantic bay, nor his prophetic spring; the water has dried up._

\- the last recorded prophesy of the Delphic Pythia, 362 AD

 

Uxmal, Mexico - August, 1933

The humidity was stifling, and sweat was trickling in a slow, endless drip into the collar of his shirt, turned up against the equatorial sun that made its way through the break in the canopy of leaves. The river was running sluggishly behind him, as stultified by the heat as the small crew of local laborers leaning on shovels and picks behind him.

But Steve was focused. Electric even.

He brushed and chipped at the layers of clay hardened by the millennia into a protective shell around the roughly hewn obelisk marking the edge of an ancient territory. The gods that watched over it had long since passed beyond praise and worship, and the people who defended it were long since buried.

But not forgotten.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

With a breathless gasp, he pulled up short with the tiny chisel he held in his hand. A small, brittle chunk of earth fell away from the rounded protrusion he had been carefully chipping away at for the past four hours.

Clear and brilliant gold shone back at him underneath.

Now able to work a tool between the clay and the treasure below, the task progressed quickly. In no more than ten minutes, the golden, angry face of one of the twelve Bahlam of Uxmal, the jaguar spirits that guarded the people of the once great city, shone as bright and clear under the mid afternoon sun as if it had only just been carefully placed in its rocky sconce.

Two years. Two years spent searching for the last of the twelve Bahlam. The museum's collection would finally be complete.

"Hello beautiful," Steve let out in a hushed and triumphant whisper.

It was quiet, as if the entire jungle was holding its breath to let him have this moment.

Scratch that, it was a little too quiet.

Steve jerked backwards, only to jam his shoulder painfully against what felt distinctly like a double barreled shot gun held at his back.

The sound of the firing hammer being cocked split the air like a siren. Steve let out a long suffering sigh and raised his hands.

"I didn't know you felt that way, Dr. Rogers," came the smoothly accented tone that Steve knew only too well.

"Well you never asked Laufeyson," he ground out, casting about for options while trying to keep his hands steady. "Always come into a situation barrel first, never stop to chat."

"I try not to waste time, Dr. Rogers," the long arm moved around his right side, plucking the idol from its stone casing. Steve winced at the thought of what the oils from those ungloved hands would do to the patina. "Which is why I'm rather put out by how long you and your little god here have evaded me."

He felt both the man and the gun start to retreat, so he risked carefully turning around. Five more men stood behind Loki Laufeyson, guaranteeing the older man’s clean escape to the river boat beached on the bank. They must have drifted up silently. One look at all the firearms they carried and Steve wished he could have made a run for it like his crew must have.

"Let this one go," Steve said, even as Laufeyson was backing away towards the river. "It's the last one, it belongs in a museum with the others."

"Ahhhh Dr. Rogers, don't you see? That's what makes it one of a kind. No, I don't think I shall be letting this one go." His gaze as he looked at the idol he held was covetous, but Steve knew full well that Laufeyson never wanted these pieces of history for their own sake, only for what they could bring him.

Steve hadn't really thought he would give it up. He'd been beaten by Laufeyson to treasures like this before. The man was relentless, and somehow able to talk foreign officials into letting him export their most sacred pieces of history to his own personal collection. He had a reputation in the business for having a silver tongue.

Steve was of the opinion that it was more about having a golden pocket and no respect for human life, but somehow that side of Laufeyson never seemed to make the papers.

Still, Laufeyson did love a good speech, which meant that he hadn't noticed Steve's left hand inching back towards his chisel, still resting on the top of the stone obelisk.

"And," he continued with a sort of casualness that turned Steve's stomach, "I don't think I shall be letting you go either. You've been a thorn in my side, Dr. Rogers. You should feel honored really. Not many men have the ability to rate even a mild annoyance."

"Mild annoyance?" Steve scoffed, "I clearly haven't been working hard enough."

Laufeyson cracked a twisted smile. "Well, I certainly won't miss your wit," he said coolly. "Goodbye, Dr. Rogers."

He turned, giving a short hand signal to the men with him, who raised their weapons.

"Wait!" Steve called desperately, taking a lunging step forwards and surreptitiously grabbing the chisel at the same time.

Laufeyson half turned. It was enough.

"I'd hate to let you leave without a parting shot," he grinned swift and sharp, sending the chisel flying towards Laufeyson. He waited long enough to see it strike the right side of that sneering, aristocratic face before he dove behind the stone obelisk and rolled into the jungle beyond it.


	2. Part 1: New York, N.Y. – September, 1933

**New York, N.Y. – September, 1933**

"Heard you had a bit of an adventure down south, Rogers" Tony Stark barged into his office without knocking, as was his habit.

Steve slowly straightened from his posture, curled over a dense and dusty tome, and closed his eyes, counted to ten and reminded himself that he was the Stark chair of research in the archeology department at NYU, and his office was in the Maria Stark archeology building, and the Stark wing at the Met did fund most of his digs.

"A bit," he said, pushing his reading glasses up wearily.

"Laufeyson beat you to it again, did he?" Tony asked quite jovially for a man whose expensive archeological dig had come back empty handed.

"If by ‘beat me’ you mean took the Bahlam from me at gunpoint, then yeah," he said testily.

"Well, yes, I would say that falls within the definition of beating you Rogers," said Tony with a grin.

Steve let out a reluctant laugh. "I suppose I can't argue with you Stark," he said.

"It's Friday night," said Tony in an abrupt non-sequiter, "it’s after 7:00, you're young, you need some consoling after your round defeat in the Aztec empire, and you're sitting here reading, what?" he picked up Steve's book, "Aristotle? Of course you are. Come on, I'm buying you a drink.”

Steve let out a long sigh. His father had served with Tony's in the Great War, and apparently had saved the other man's life. Not that Steve wasn't grateful for all the support the Stark family had given him, and he was very fond of Stark Senior, but the whole episode had left his father with a lifelong friend to grow old with and left Steve with Tony.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his horn rimmed glasses. Long experience had taught Steve that sometimes it was just better not to ask too many questions.

"Alright, alright," he said, standing up from his desk, pulling off his glasses and stretching the stiffness from his spine, "let me grab my coat."

At 32, Steve often wondered if he should be worried about the odd stiffness and twinging of his joints. A combination of long years of study interspersed with inevitably physically taxing excursions in the field sometimes left him feeling ill-used for his age.

Still, he thought as he walked passed the open door of Dr. Westfarer next door who was barely five years his senior but looked the very picture of the fragile, worn, and out of shape academic, it could be worse.

+

+

When Tony placed a tumbler of fine scotch in front of him with a wicked gleam in his eye, Steve wondered whether he should have been a bit more suspicious of Tony's offer of a drink.

"What do you want Tony," he said with an exasperated sigh.

"What? I can't just sit and have a drink with one of my oldest friends?" he feigned innocence.

“Can you?" Steve asked, already knowing the answer.

"You know, Rogers, it's sort of infuriating that you know me that well."

“Couldn't agree more," said Steve with a crooked grin, taking a healthy swallow of his drink. "You might as well give me your pitch."

Tony settled back in his chair with a beaming grin, "Oh this isn’t a pitch Steven, it’s not about what I want. No my friend, this is about what  _you_ want."

"Me?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Something our team in Alexandria found, sorting through the scraps of papyrus we've been able to recover from that cache outside of the city you discovered a few years ago."

"Oh?" Steve sat forward, suddenly more interested in the conversation. That carefully preserved room of scrolls, which Steve believed had once been a part of the massive collection of the great library of Alexandria, had been one of his greatest finds. And Steve had never been able to shake the lure of the ancient Greeks.

"Pythia," said Tony simply, "They found a scroll that claims to describe the location of the Pythia."

Steve raised an eyebrow, "The Pythia is a position, Tony; priestess of the oracle at Delphi. It's not a person, there's no tomb of the Pythia out there to find. And the temple of Delphi has been found already, by thousands of tourists."

"You always were an insufferable know it all Rogers. And what, pray tell, do you think became of the oracle at Delphi?"

"393AD, Emperor Theodosius the first closed down the oracle. After that, it was just a building." He couldn't resist being slightly smug.

"Interesting, interesting..." said Tony, "perhaps you should take a look at this, maybe have a chat with this ancient Alexandrian who seems to have a different opinion." Tony handed over a glossy photo of a large section of a papyrus scroll. It was written in a scrawled, erratic form of Greek, which was slightly unusual in itself since it appeared to date from quite late into the Roman period in Alexandria.

" _In the 44th year of the reign of Theodosius_ " Steve mentally ran the dates to get 391AD, " _the patriarch Theophillus has banished all of our gods from the empire in service of his Christ. Our brothers in the west fear that this is the first ripple of the coming of a great wave. The old ways are being swept away. Will even the Pythia not be safe? My friends, take your alters and your statues. Keep them secret and safe. The Pythia, the conduit, keep it safe at all costs. Hide it where it cannot be found, bury it in the place where even the Persians could not pass_."

“Look at the grammar here,” said Steve excitedly, pointing out a paragraph, “when they're talking about the Pythia. Not ‘oh Pythia’ in the vocative like you might expect. Not even ‘we have to move  _her_ ’ or  _them_. We have to move  _it._ They're talking about it like..." he broke off, a thrill of excitement and discovery running down his spine.

"Like it's an  _object_ ," said Tony, almost reverently, "Like the Pythia is an  _object_ that was the conduit to Apollo, kept by the priestess, but not the woman herself."

"It wouldn't even be surprising," Steve went on excitedly, "the Greeks loved metonymy so much, it would make sense that the guardian of the Pythia became the oracle personified in the records."

"Where the Persians could not pass," Tony mused, "what does that mean to you?"

"Thermopylae," said Steve at once, "the pass at Thermopylae."

"So," said Tony with a slow grin, "wanna take a trip?"

+

+

When Steve arrived on the tarmac by the heavy silver body of his flight to Athens he was resoundingly unsurprised to find Tony standing there with a drink in hand. He was, however, somewhat surprised by Tony's companion.

Standing beside and slightly behind Tony was a young woman, maybe 25, with her hair pulled back severely behind owlish glasses. It was a pretty enough face, or would have been but for the severe expression on it. Hard to make much of a study of her figure, swathed as it was in a shapeless skirt and uncomfortably high collared blouse.

Definitely not Tony's type.

"Rogers!" called Tony as he approached, "there you are! Hard to recognize you without all that tweed."

Steve would have to grudgingly admit that he much preferred his khaki work pants, well-worn boots, and beaten up leather jacket to the tweed and patches that were _de rigeur_ for a young (ish) professor of ancient history.

"Bringing company?" Steve asked with a stiff nod and a terse "ma'am" to the woman beside him.

"Not so much company as substitution," Tony began.

Steve's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"You're not coming to Athens?" he questioned.

"Can't" replied Tony, not without regret, "Things at the museum are too busy, and I've got a gala next week, and the donors are breathing down my neck."

Steve blew out a breath. Tony, like him, had an insatiable need for answers. He would readily admit that Tony was both more successful and more diversified in his interests. Between ensuring funding for continued archeological and historical expeditions (much to Steve's own benefit), investing in science and entrepreneurial enterprises, and tinkering away at his own projects (both modern and ancient), Steve wasn't really surprised that Tony wasn't coming to Athens. Whenever Tony did tag along, he inevitably ended up glued to a telephone in the hotel, leaving Steve to trek into the wilds and fend for himself anyways.

No, the more surprising thing was, unless Steve was wildly misreading the situation, he was proposing to send the young woman at his side in his place.

Still, Steve could be a cautious man when the situation called for it, "What do you mean  _substitution_ ," he narrowed his eyes at Tony.

"Steve Rogers," said Tony with a flourish, "meet Dr. Darcy Lewis. She will be the representative of the Maria Stark foundation on your archeological expedition."

Steve managed a barely polite "Ms. Lewis," before roughly dragging Tony a few paces away.

"What the hell is this Stark? You can't expect me to drag this girl around Greece? And don't even get me  _started_  on what you were thinking trying to send a single woman to Athens with me."

"Don’t be such a boy scout," said Tony easily, "You’ll hardly be unchaperoned, what with all the laborers and students who inevitably end up on all your digs. Plus," Tony barreled forward "not that you stopped to ask, but _Doctor_ Lewis is fluent in Greek, both modern and ancient, has impeccable Latin, not to mention a staggering knowledge of a truly impressive pile of other dead languages and  _happens_ to be the museum's foremost expert in Greek religion and mysticism. Perhaps you've read her thesis on the Pythia?"

"She's  _that_ D. Lewis?" Steve exclaimed, "I thought she was a man."

A disgusted noise from a few paces away told him he hadn't exactly been using a measured tone.

"Dr. Rogers," she called out, striding smartly towards him, "I am, in fact, that D. Lewis. Mr. Stark had convinced me that you would appreciate the knowledge and skills I can contribute to you expedition. However, I can see that you are singularly unenlightened and un-interested in what I have to offer. So, I won't burden you any further. Good day gentlemen."

The careful posture, formal words and tightly controlled tone were belied by the fire behind her eyes and her hands held in white knuckled fists by her side.

It was a somewhat unusual contrast in Steve's experience with women. It reminded him of the way he used to feel as a scrawny and underdeveloped kid, always punching above his weight and feeling the impotent rage of getting knocked back to the rails.

"Hold on Ms. Lewis," he called after her, "Tony has a bad habit of springing things on people without any explanation."

She turned and faced him with a stiff nod. "Apparently," she cut out.

"Did he happen to tell you that we're going to spend most of our time living in tents without running water?"

"Dr. Rogers," she said coldly, "do I look like a frivolous woman who can't survive without creature comforts."

"No you do not," Steve said dryly, almost missing the sideways cut of her eyes and the way the corners of her lips hardened as he did. "And did Mr. Stark inform you that I have a bad habit of, shall we say, attracting trouble?" he went on.

"You're talking about Dr. Laufeyson, right?' she said, coolly, doing an admirable job of covering her hesitancy "I've heard the stories. Do you really think we'll run into him?"

It was enough to make a decision.

"I can hardly seem to avoid it," said Steve rolling his eyes and letting out a long suffering sigh. "Come on Ms. Lewis, the plane won’t wait for us."

Steve was all set to avoid polite conversation by pulling his hat over his eyes and pretending to sleep, but by the time he had settled in his seat, Ms. Lewis was already nose deep in a book and completely ignoring him.

He almost opened his mouth to say something, force her to pay attention, and then shook his head with a wry twist to his lips.

Surely the windbags in the psychology department had a word for this, the kind of ego that wanted attention even from musty and pinched librarians. He was going to blame it on his childhood of being overlooked in favor of Bucky.

The unanticipated memory of his friend was always like accidentally prodding a sore tooth. While Steve eventually caught up and even surpassed his friend in size and strength, a childhood of being small and sickly had meant a lot of time indoors reading. He never lost his love of knowledge and the quiet pursuit of the past.

Bucky, though, had always been an adventurer. He was the one who had pulled Steve out from behind his books and shown him how much more there was to discover out there in the world. But he had lost him, more than four years ago.

He had brought Bucky with him on a dig in Tangiers. He knew it was going to be dangerous, knew Laufeyson was out for the same prize. He thought that they were prepared, thought they had taken all the precautions they needed to.

He had never expected that a loose carabineer and a treacherous climb would be how it happened. He could still see his friend falling away from him…

Steve settled back against his chair, willing himself to fall asleep. Transatlantic flights were long and boring, and there was no use spending the whole thing moping.

+

+

Athens was just as grimy, loud, and exciting as he remembered it.

It became quickly apparent to him, however, that Ms. Lewis remembered nothing of Athens because she had never been there. She looked around with wide eyes as she dragged her luggage behind her (she had staunchly refused his help) into their hotel.

They were planning to stay in Athens for no more than a few days, just enough for Steve to meet up with a few friends and follow up a few leads, and for Ms. Lewis to pull together the logistics of taking a small crew north to Thermopylae.

“How is it,” he said as they rode the creaky metal elevator up to their rooms, “that you have written so much about Athens and never actually visited the place.”

He could see as her posture, already ramrod straight, tightened even further that he had managed to offend her again.

It was going to be a really long trip.

“And how, exactly, did you think a single woman of reasonably good reputation but very little fortune and no family was going to be able to travel to study the digs and collections around Athens?” If her tone was any sharper, it would have cut him.

He also had enough good grace to feel mildly ashamed. Not enough to apologize, but still.

“Well now that you’re here,” he said, as they left the elevator and moved towards their rooms, facing doors across the hallway, “you might as well do some sight-seeing. I’m meeting a contact up by the Acropolis tomorrow. No reason we can’t go a bit early.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing a few times before Steve realized he had volunteered to take her to the Acropolis. He hadn’t really intended to do that. But it wasn’t really a good idea for her to go alone. A single, well-bred female on her own, clearly a tourist, was a target for pickpockets and the more dangerous brands of criminals that swarmed the city.

Oh well, probably wasn’t going to be the most thrilling morning ever, but it might buy him a little good will from the icy partner that had been forced on him.

“I…” she said finally, “thank you, Dr. Rogers. I would appreciate that.” She looked just as uncomfortable thanking him as he felt receiving her thanks.

“S’nothing,” he said, picking awkwardly at the slightly peeling paint on the doorframe. “Well, I should…” he thumbed over his shoulder towards his room.

“Yes,” she said at once. “Of course. Good evening Dr. Rogers.”

“Miss Lewis,” he nodded.

She sighed, with a little less rancor that he was used to. “It’s Doctor,” she said, as she turned and slipped into her room. It was so low that he was sure he wasn’t meant to hear it. But of course it was Dr. Lewis, wasn’t it? Dr. D. Lewis whose work he had read with admiration many times.

Certainly not what he would have expected.

+

+

In deference to the heat, and the dusty climb up to the Acropolis, Ms. Lewis was wearing a skirt that hit her mid-calf, sturdy lace up boots with only the barest hint of femininity to them, and a light cotton blouse. Certainly still very conservative compared to the Athenian women, and even other European travelers, but much more revealing than the school-marmish clothes he had met her in.

He could see, instantly, why she dressed the way she did in the museum. He looked longer than was decent at the shapely curve of her chest, dipping to a narrowed waist and flaring into hips barely disguised by the solid fabric of her skirt.

She didn’t want to be seen as a woman, that much was clear. Any of the old lechers that ran things at the museum saw her like this, it would be a lost cause.

He turned his gaze back to her face, just before she caught sight of him waiting outside the lobby. She pursed her lips, no doubt at his dusty pants and rumpled shirt.

He, on the other hand, thought he could manage just fine.

“Dr. Rogers,” she said as she approached him.

“Miss Lewis,” he responded with a cheerful grin.

It wasn’t saying anything particularly promising about his character, but he was beginning to quite enjoy making her brow furrow in anger like that.

+

+

Whatever had been troubling her about his appearance that morning, he was beginning to suspect it had nothing to do with the state of his clothing. She showed not a care for the state of her skirt and boots as she knelt in the dirt, blowing dust away from an inscription at the base of a crumbling column, scratching away in a small leather notebook.

Despite his expectations, he found he was, in fact, enjoying his morning. While Ms. Lewis had not been particularly talkative on their journey through the city, he didn’t feel like it was a result of her determinedly cold demeanor. Instead, she was observing the city with bright, darting eyes.

When they reached the Acropolis after a dusty climb where Steve found himself keeping up with Ms. Lewis, rather than the other way around, he asked her “I suppose you’d like to start with the Parthenon?”

“Oh no,” she said breezily, “That’s alright. Our time is limited, and I’ve seen the Elgin marbles plenty of times. I want to see the Erechtheion.”

“Oh,” said Steve caught in the moment between surprise and understanding. “Of course,” he said, “I read your paper on the Porch of the Maidens.”

“You did?” she stopped and looked up at him. He felt somewhat stung by her look of skepticism.

“ _A sterling example,_ ” Steve quoted, “ _of the dichotomy of the feminine in Ancient Greek culture. On the one hand, there is the clear objectification of the female form in the Carytids supporting the portico. On the other, the Porch of Maidens marks the entrance into the temple of Athena Poleis, protectress of the city as a wild animal protects her young._ ”

She blushed beet red and looked away, marching off towards the Erechtheion.

Steve could feel a creeping heat in his neck as well. He hadn’t exactly planned to admit to her the extent to which he admired the works of D. Lewis.

“I don’t have all day, Dr. Rogers,” she called back to him.

At least, he thought to himself, he _did_ before he knew what a shrewish harpy she was.

He had to admit, though, she knew her stuff.

“If you had actually _read_ your Thucydides,” he found himself arguing with her hotly as they walked towards a café not far from the ancient hill behind them, “you would know that the Spartans were…”

“I have read my Thucydides Dr. Rogers,” she struck back, “and if _you_ weren’t so lazy that you were reading bad translations instead of the original…”

“Am I interrupting something?” a smooth female voice caused them both to stop short and look up.

“Never,” he said with a roguish grin, sweeping the slender red head in front of them into a swift hug, “how’ve you been?”

“Same as always, Rogers,” she said, looking unruffled as he set her back on her feet.

“Heard you got involved in that dust up south of Cairo last month.”

“A lady should never kiss and tell,” she said with a wink. “So who’s your…friend?”

She eyed Ms. Lewis critically.

Steve saw her almost unconsciously brush at her dusty skirt and reach up to pat at her disheveled hair. He’d seen women react like this often around the woman currently staring her down. Oddly, he hadn’t expected it from Ms. Lewis.

“Ms. Lewis,” he said, remembering some semblance of manners, “meet Natalia Romanova. Nat, this is Ms. Lewis. Stark sent her from the museum.”

He may have been used to the initial reaction Natalia drew from other women. Ms. Lewis’s response, however, was something new.

“It’s Dr. Lewis, actually,” she said firmly, extending her hand, “Ms. Romanova, I’ve heard excellent things. Dr. Wilson spoke highly of your assistance in Morocco.”

Natalia raised an eyebrow. Steve knew her well enough to see it for the sign of approval it was.

“Dr. Lewis,” she said, in a different tone, “a pleasure.”

“Nat, we need your help,” Steve said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“What else is new,” she rolled her eyes, “Come on, buy me a drink and you can tell me all about what trouble you’re getting yourself into this time.”

+

+

“So what you’re saying,” Nat said skeptically after a few drinks and a lot of explanation, “is that you’ve got one sentence in one scrap of papyrus that Stark dug up in Alexandria that suggests that _something_ that may or may not be associated with the Pythia is _somewhere_ near Thermopylae?”

“Yes,” said Steve, meeting her gaze directly. Both he and Natalia were two whiskies in. Ms. Lewis abstained.

After a moment, Nat broke into a grin. “I might be able to help,” she said finally, “on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Steve let himself smile openly. “Deal.”

+

+

Steve had sat up late the night before catching up with Natalia, and so was later than he would have liked in getting up. The woman remained a bit of an enigma to him, despite that he considered her a friend. He still had no idea where she had picked up her very specific set of skills and how she had gotten into the business of, essentially, acting as protection.

By the time he came downstairs, he couldn’t find either Natalia or Ms. Lewis at the hotel breakfast.

Natalia, he knew, would be making preparations to leave with them. It took a little more hunting to track down Ms. Lewis. He finally found her overtaking a large table at the public library, a copy of the scroll and a number of large maps spread in front of her, her small leather notebook open and a pencil stuck in her hair.

He slumped into the chair beside her, causing her to start suddenly. She looked over at him, and then let out a long sigh.

“Must you, Dr. Rogers?”

“Apparently,” he said with his best charming grin. He knew it was wasted on Ms. Lewis, but that somehow made it more enjoyable.

“So what is it, exactly, that you’re looking for.” He asked, bending over the maps next to her.

He noted, with some surprise, that she tensed, and her cheeks flushing ever so slightly at his close proximity.

“Well,” she pushed a map in front of him, her tone all business, and Steve wondered if he might be imagining things, “Here’s the oldest extant map this library has of the pass at Thermopylae, and here” she pushed another one forward, “is the most recent I could find.”

Steve looked at the two maps in consideration, “Not much change to the topography, which bodes well for us.”

Ms. Lewis looked surprised that he had so quickly gotten the picture. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I did actually earn my PhD,” he said bitingly.

“Yes, well so did I,” she muttered half under her breath, before pointing at the narrow pass on the ancient map. “This is where most scholars agree that that the actual battle at Thermopylae took place, the narrowest part of the pass.”

“So that’s where we should be heading?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Ms. Lewis pulled out another map, “Look at the geology here,” she pointed at the map that showed not roads, rivers, and hills, but the composition of the ground.

“Hard to hide anything in solid rock,” Steve agreed as she pointed out the area on the map, “but look just here,” not too far back into the pass, where the rock walls widened out and the stone became porous and cut through by water sources, “There’s probably plenty of easier places to dig here.”

“Yes,” said Ms. Lewis, with that same irritating expression of surprise, “I agree that this area is our best bet. Still, it’s too wide a place to look, and the scroll gives us nothing more to go on. I’ve taken a look through all the contemporary writers I could find and I’ve found no mention.”

“Well, I suppose it’ll be a long dig then,” said Steve wearily, looking at the wide swath of territory Ms. Lewis had drawn into her little book.

“Not necessarily,” she said thoughtfully, “there have been a number of good studies done of painted amphorae that suggests a certain level of accuracy in geographic features. Amphorae are not my specialty, but if we could talk to someone who knows what we have from this era, there may be something we’ve missed. I believe you might know someone who…”

“Dr. Westfarer,” Steve announced in sudden realization, “He’s probably got every damn pot we’ve found from 100AD through to the renaissance catalogued in that melon shaped head of his.”

“Yes, precisely,” said Ms. Lewis, failing to stifle a grin. “I’m sure Mr. Stark would go talk to him.”

“I’ll go call him right now,” Steve pushed back from the table, but paused for a moment, before stating firmly, “Good work Dr. Lewis.”

Because if nothing else, she had certainly earned the title.

+

+

“Why is it that we need to steal this urn, again,” Darcy asked tiredly as the three of them lurked in the shadows of a stone archway outside a stately home just outside of the city.

“Because,” said Steve in a patient tone, “Stark says the urn shows someone hiding an object inscribed with the mark of the Pythia. It’s from the right time frame and the right location, but we can’t just go _look_ at it because it’s in some god damned private collection instead of a museum.” Okay, maybe not so patient.

“I’ll just ring the doorbell,” she said, starting the same argument they’d been having for almost a half hour. “At least see if I can get invited in. They might just let us look at it.”

Natalia was ignoring them, her eyes scanning the house as they argued.

“You can’t just _ring the doorbell,_ ” Steve said in exasperation. “We’ve got to do some recon, wait until the place is empty.”

“You really think we have that kind of time?”

“Better than just walking through the door when we know _nothing_ about…”

“Dr. Rogers?” Darcy interrupted him.

“What?” he barked back.

“What’s Ms. Romanova doing?”

“What?” he whipped around, expecting to find her leaning against the wall beside him, but he could see her across the street, pressed against the side of the house.

“What the _hell_ is she…” he started to follow her to drag her back.

“ _Don’t,_ ” she cut out, pointing up at the car coming down the road, clearly headed for the house.

“Jesus Christ, we don’t have the cash on hand to bail her out of jail… I should have wired Stark the minute we landed.”

“I think,” said Darcy, watching as Natalia slipped through an open first floor window with a surprising ease, “we should give her a minute before we jump to any conclusions.”

Not 30 seconds later, she slipped out through the same window, her jacket wrapped into a small bundle. She waited until the car pulled up and its occupant entered the front door. Then she dashed back across the street.

“Let’s go,” she said, blowing past them and heading back towards the rented car they had left a few streets away.

“Wha…” Steve started.

“Did you get it?” asked Darcy, ignoring Steve.

“I got it,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

“ _How_ ,” he finally managed.

“Always with the surprise” she said dryly. “While you two were arguing, I saw the display cases through the window in the back of the house. No wires running out the windows, so no electric alarm. Not surprising in a private collection. Idiot didn’t even have the cases locked down.”

“So you just…went in and took it?” Darcy gaped.

She shrugged. “You said you needed it,” she said evenly.

+

+

“It looks like it might be just to the southeast of the pass here,” Steve sat next to Darcy on the dusty and humid train car as they rumbled north towards the ancient pass.

“I agree that, assuming the urn is reasonably accurate, the geography looks right,” she said, rifling through the pile of ancient and modern maps spread out in front of them. “The problem is we have _no idea_ exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Well,” Steve examined the flat sketch Ms. Lewis had done of the surface of the urn, “it looks small, which isn’t all that helpful, but the serpent here,” he touched the drawing, “is clearly the mark of the Pythia. Maybe whoever hid it has left a trail.”

“Of course,” her lips twisted wryly, “because after more than 1500 years it’s going to be that easy.”

“Hey,” said Steve with a grin, “I’m trying to think positive.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and brushed her hair back from her face. Her usually tightly coiled style had come loose on the long trip, curling and falling from its ties. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up against the heat and the light fabric was sticking to her skin. She had also just smeared a streak of dusty charcoal from the map she was sketching on her cheek.

“Here,” said Steve without thinking, “you’ve got…” he reached out, but was suddenly interrupted as the train gave a jarring lurch.

The bucking motion of the train pressed him against the firm curve of her hip and his hand instinctively wrapped around her slender shoulder to steady himself.

For a long moment, she was looking up at him with an expression that he couldn’t parse, the heat of her skin seeping into his hand through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“We’ve got a problem,” said Nat, bursting into the compartment.

Steve dropped his hand into his lap sharply.

“What’s going on,” he got to his feet, shoving the papers away and peering out the window.

“Someone’s cut our car loose and if we don’t act fast we’ll…” the train lurched again, tossing Steve into Darcy as their direction began to change.

“We’ve switched tracks,” said Steve, looking out the window, arms caging Darcy as he looked out.

“Yes,” said Natalia darkly, “that.”

“Dr. Rogers,” Darcy’s voice was narrow and tight, “ _why_ have we switched tracks?”

He found, when he looked down at her, that her face was remarkably close to his where she lay trapped between his arms and the window. Her eyes, currently wide with alarm, were a somewhat startling shade of blue.

“One of Laufeyson’s men is on this train,” said Nat, pulling her jacket from the shelf above their seats and strapping a gun concealed within across her chest. “He’s cut our car free and switched us off track.”

Now was not the right time to be considering why it was that he had such a difficult time reading the controlled expressions of the woman currently staring up at him. He shook off the momentary fascination and burst into motion, shoving himself away from Dr. Lewis, pulling on his jacket and throwing his canvas bag across his chest. “Well we’ll just have to get off then,” he said. “On your feet Dr. Lewis,” he hauled her up by her elbow as she scrambled to pull their papers together and shove them in her bag.

“That’s going to be a problem,” said Nat tightly, “because we’re heading into a canyon and, if I’m not mistaken, the tracks are out on the other side of it.”

“Okay,” said Steve in exasperation, “then we have to stop the train before we get off. Do you have any good news?”

“Well,” she said with an odd expression as they finished gathering their things and moved out of the compartment, “I think I know the guy. Ran into him in St. Petersburg a few years ago.”

“And?” Steve prompted in a low voice as he looked cautiously across to the next car.

“We’re in trouble,” she said evenly.

“How is that good news?” he asked.

“It’s really not,” a deep voice cut across from the other end of the car.

The three of them turned slowly to face the sound.

The man at the other end of the car was dressed all in black, his face shadowed by a hood. His left arm was encased in what looked like a spidery metal exoskeleton, mean sharp ridges across his knuckles and, on the broad shoulder plate, the clear red star mark worn by Laufeyson’s men.

“It’s been a while, Natalia,” he said in a gravelly baritone as he stalked towards them.

Steve watched the other man carefully as he moved his hand to the handle on the door behind him.

“Give me the urn” he said simply, “and I’ll let you stop the train.” And then, in a rather surprising change of tone, he added, “As I recall, Natalia, you’re quite good at giving me what I want.”

Steve winced as he saw Darcy clutch her bag, containing the wrapped urn at the bottom of it, closer to her chest, hoping the man hadn’t noticed her motion. The way his focus suddenly shifted, he knew they had no such luck.

“How exactly is it that _you_ plan to get off the train if you don’t let us stop it,” said Steve, trying to distract the man as his hand closed on the door handle.

“I can make the jump,” he said easily, “can she?” he gestured to Darcy, who (to her credit) was glaring back with venom in her eyes.

“She might surprise you,” said Steve. He could see that Natalia saw his hand and guessed his plan. All they’d needed is a moment to get through the door.

He nodded at her, just the tiniest incline of his chin.

“Something you seem to have forgotten about me, James,” Natalia said sharply, “I’m not going to make it easy.”

In a flash, Nat drew her gun and fired. The man, James, turned and there was a screech of sparks as the bullet glanced off his metal shoulder plate. He turned back and ran for the door, but Steve and Natalia had already pushed Darcy through it and shoved it closed behind them.

In the next car, Steve kept his hand tight around Darcy’s elbow, who for once made no protest, as they hurried towards the other end. Just across a short, exterior join was the rear engine and, Steve knew, the emergency brakes.

“Nat,” he said, “you stay here with Dr. Lewis, I’m going to…”

He didn’t get to finish, as there was a shriek and pull of metal and the man in black jumped through the tear he had made in the roof, hitting the floor on both feet with a heavy thud.

Before Steve could drop her arm and draw, the other man whirled toward them, weapon trained on Nat as he dragged Darcy away from Steve with a smooth side stepping motion, pulling his metal arm across her chest.

“Now,” he growled, “maybe we can have a more civil conversation about all this.”

Steve looked over to Nat, her weapon still trained, but there was no clear shot. He raised his hands in the air. “Alright,” he said as calmly as he could, “alright, let’s be reasonable here.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said as Natalia grudgingly lowered her weapon. “Me and your little mousy friend here are going to walk through that door,” he gestured behind us, “and you are going to let us.”

“The _hell_ we are,” Steve growled.

“Steve,” Natalia put a hand on his arm.

He could see, now, that the man had his arm turned in towards Darcy, the sharp ridges at the back of his hand pressing into the base of her throat.

“What’s more, Dr. Rogers,” the man went on, “you are going to wait right where you are. We’re going to take a little trip to the other end of the train. The girl is going to give me the urn, and then I’m going to take my leave. She gets back here quickly enough, you just might be able to pull the breaks before the tracks run out. Understood?”

“Not much of a choice, is there James,” Nat said coolly.

“Darcy,” Steve cut out, “just do what he says, okay? Just give it to him.”

She nodded, eyes wide and terrified, but standing strong and steady, her hands balled into fists by her side.

The man in black backed them out of the car. Nat and Steve could see him turn around, pushing Darcy in front of him, moving steadily, but not quickly.

The moment they had moved out of earshot, Nat turned to him.

“Well Rogers, what’s your half assed stupid as shit plan?”

He looked at her with a sharp grin in spite of himself.

“Give me a boost.”

Running along the top of an out of control train was a lot harder than he had thought it would be.

“This was a bad idea,” he said to himself as he pulled himself upright out of the hole the other man had left. There wasn’t much time though, and he was committed to this half assed stupid as shit plan now, so he began to move, stumbling against the swift wind.

The front end of the last car at the front of the train was half blown open. The windows on all sides had been shattered, and he could hear Darcy underneath him.

“There’s no need for violence, sir,” she said in a stern voice with only a hint of a quaver, “you simply need to let me reach into my bag for the urn.”

Deciding that sooner was going to be better than later, Steve took a breath, said a little prayer to whoever might be listening, and swung down from the top of the train through a window.

In a heartbeat, the man had pulled Darcy in front of him again, his back to the open end of the train car, wind whipping Darcy’s hair around them.

Still, Steve had a clear line of sight. He looked at Darcy steadily. He had no shot, but all he would need was a moment. And then very slowly and deliberately, Darcy closed one eye in a wink.

A heartbeat later, she drove her elbow into the man’s gut, the surprise of it probably more than the pain giving her the moment she needed to drop to the floor.

Steve drew and fired in one smooth motion. The man was fast, but not quite fast enough. Steve’s bullet caught him in the shoulder and he fell against a seat with a grunt.

Sometimes, when things went south, Steve felt like he was moving in slow motion, but now everything was happening too fast. The man kicked Darcy towards him from where she was scrambling to her feet, she stumbled into him, his free arm closing around her hip reflexively. It gave the man enough time to hook Darcy’s bag on one arm and jump to his feet, his gun pointed at Steve.

“You’re good, Dr. Rogers,” the man said, walking backward toward the open end of the car, “but I’m better.”

The wind whipping past him blew back his hood, and it that moment, even if he had had the time, Steve couldn’t have taken the shot.

“Bucky?” he called in a strangled voice.

The man, James, _Bucky_ , cocked his head sideways. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

And then he was gone, leaping sideways out of the train.

“Dr. Rogers!” Darcy was pulling on his arm. “Steve please!” she finally yelled.

He looked down at her.

“The tracks!” she screamed.

Shaking his head sharply, he pulled her behind him as they sprinted toward the bag of the train. The moment Nat saw them through the windows between corridors she ran for the emergency break. With a screech and a lurch than sent Darcy toppling into his arms, the train began to slow.

Finally, they came to a stop and Steve let out his breath.

“Dr. Rogers,” Darcy’s voice was shaken and he could feel her breath against his neck.

He realized with a sudden lurch that he was holding her pressed tight against him, the curve of her waist solid and warm under his hands, her chest pressed into his.

He set her back upright swiftly, dropping his hands to his side as Natalia came through the door.

“Everyone alright,” she asked?

“Fine,” said Darcy with admirable solidity. “I’m fine.”

“That man,” said Steve, “he got the urn and all of our work.” He took a breath. “Nat, I think it was Bucky.”

“What? James is… _how_?”

“I don’t know,” said Steve, “he didn’t even know me…”

“Dr. Rogers, Ms. Romanova,” Darcy interrupted gently, “That man, whoever he was. He did get the urn, but he didn’t get all of our work.”

They both turned to her.

“When the train was first jarred, everything was spread out, and I didn’t have time to get everything into my bag, so…” with a tiny, triumphant little smile, she pulled her leather notebook from a pocket in her full skirt.

“Your notebook,” said Steve wonderingly.

“But he has all the maps,” said Nat.

“Not the one that matters” said Darcy. “All the work we did, matching the ancient and modern geography, the sketch of the urn, our guesses at where we should be looking, that’s all in here.”

Nat let out a sharp grin, “So Laufeyson is going to have to put it all together himself,” she said.

“And,” Steve added with a grin, “That means we’ve got a good head start.”

“If,” Darcy added, “We can get there without a train.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Nat, “I can find us a ride. There should be a village about three miles to the South East.”

“Guess we better start walking then,” said Steve with a weary sigh.

“You better let me lead out Rogers,” said Natalia, stepping in front of him, “you take up the rear.”

“I think I can manage Nat,” he said dryly.

“If I remember correctly,” Nat responded tartly, “this area is prone to rat infestations.”

Steve froze.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, falling in behind Darcy as they started walking.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then he heard Darcy whisper over her shoulder “You’re afraid of rats?”

“Stow it, Lewis,” he said, but without much venom. His eye were peeled, scanning for little red eyes in the dark.

He could almost _hear_ her amusement as she turned forward and continued following Nat in the blackness. He supposed, after how she had held up on the train, that he could let her have this one.

 


	3. Part Two: Malesina, Greece

**Malesina, Greece**

“So by find us a ride,” said Steve as they climbed the stairs to the hotel room Nat had secured for them, “you mean buy a car?”

“Yes,” said Nat, pushing both he and Darcy into the larger room where the women would be staying. “Why do you ask?”

“Well it’s a little ‘first thought’ don’t you think?” said Steve dryly. “And you don’t think Laufeyson is going to get wind of a bunch of beat up foreigners buying a car and heading south? He’s got connections everywhere and after the train, there’s no doubt that he’s looking for us.”

“So do I,” said Nat, getting up to answer the door. She came back carrying three garment bags over her arm. “And he’s not going to get wind of it.”

She passed Steve the top garment bag with an amused expression.

“How do you figure,” he challenged.

“Well firstly, Tony Stark’s money greases a lot of wheels,” she said, “you’ll have to thank him for me.”

“And secondly?” Steve prompted.

“We’re not going to be a bunch of foreigners,” said Nat, “we’re going to be travelling with a local.”

She shoved another bag towards Darcy. She had been perched on a small slipper chair, only half listening to them as she reviewed her notes. She still looked shaken and nervous from the events on the train.

“What?” she said looking up in surprise, dropping her book as she reflexively accepted the bag.

Steve could understand her look of surprise, “Her?” he asked incredulously.

At that, Darcy’s look of surprise morphed into a familiar look of challenge.

“My mother is Greek,” she said stiffly, “I suppose I could try to look a little more…local.”

Steve’s raised eyebrow, apparently, only intensified her stubborn determination. Finally Steve shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, “it’s worth a shot.” He stormed out of the room grumpily.

+

+

When he returned, Natasha was sitting on the bed in the main room, looking clean and pressed and utterly undistinctive.

“And what is it you’re supposed to be?” he asked, slumping into a chair next to the bed without a care for the neatly pressed gray suit he wore.

“Boring,” said Nat, “I’ll be travelling as Darcy’s maid. Better if I blend into the background in this part of the world.”

Steve grunted non-commitally. She did a good job of dressing drab, but he couldn’t imagine anyone finding Nat unremarkable.

“Listen,” she unfolded a map in front of her, “we’ll make the best time if we head up the coast here….” She continued plotting out their route for him, but Steve had stopped paying attention.

Darcy had just walked out of the dressing room off the main room.

He had thought, that day at the Acropolis, that he had figured out her game. A reasonably attractive woman who emphasized her dowdy features to avoid attracting unwanted attention in her profession. He realized, as he watched her walk towards them, that he had been as foolish as all those old men who walked past her office at the museum every day.

The dress she was wearing was much tighter than anything he had seen her in before, hugging the curve of her hips to just below the knee, her stocking clad legs arcing smoothly to the heels she wore on feet smaller than he would have thought, given the boots she usually wore. The peplum of her dress emphasized the belt strung around her slender waist and the draping of the top left her arms bare and the clean line of her collarbones exposed. Her eyes were heavily lined and, combined with the dark red of her lips, it gave her skin a glow that did, in fact, look as though it came from the Mediterranean sun. Her hair, usually so functional, was swept back into an elaborate style that framed her face and gathered loosely at the nape of her neck.

She looked like the kind of woman who Steve would need a solid slug of whisky before he had the nerve to approach.

“Steve?” he finally realized that Natasha was asking him something.

“Uh…huh? What?” he quickly cut his eyes away, as he realized that she had caught him staring.

“I said, are you ready to go?” asked Nat with a wry patience.

“Yeah, let’s get this show on the road,” he said trying to distract from the moment with energy. But as they walked out of the hotel, he couldn’t help but watch the gentle swap of her hips, and it was no hardship to hold out his arm for her as they approached a contact of Natasha’s who had a car to sell, pretending to be a young couple with money to burn.

It began to feel like a hardship, however, when he realized that while Darcy had been nothing but argumentative and sharp with him, she had quite a different attitude for Mr. Koulopolis and his car.

The man must have been thirty years her senior, and yet when they walked through the door to his garage, she dropped Steve’s arm with alacrity and approached the older man with broad and easy smile.

“Mr. Koulopolis,” she called out to him as she approached, “I’m Mrs. Smith, we called ahead from the hotel.”

Steve stood in somewhat stunned silence for a moment. The ease with which she adopted such a bold and entitled demeanor was making him wonder whether it might be time to re-arrange a few of his assumptions about Dr. Lewis .

It was also making him wonder just exactly who this Mr. Koulopolis thought he was as he approached her, kissing her on both cheeks, his hands lingering at her waist. For all Mr. Koulopolis knew, she was a married woman with her husband standing not five feet away.

If she had really been his girl, Steve thought as he hung back with his hands shoved in his pocket, he might have punched the man in the face.

He looked up sharply as he heard his name called, Darcy was looking over her shoulder at him with an expectant expression. Swallowing a put upon sigh and restraining himself from tossing an irritated glance towards Nat, he forced a smile and approached.

“Mr. Koulopolis, meet my husband Mr. Steven Smith,” she said as he approached.

“Pleasure,” Steve managed tightly as he shook the other man’s hand.

“Why Mrs. Smith,” the older man cried out in false outrage, “this man is not Greek! We must find you another.”

Steve could not restrain the glower that crossed his face at the other man’s presumption. Without giving it much thought, he stepped closer to Darcy’s side, reaching down to cover her hand with his. But before he could open his mouth, Darcy looked up at him with a level gaze.

“I’ve forgiven him for not being Greek,” she said, with a warm expression.

“And have you forgiven him for thinking that I could steal you with a smile?”

Darcy laughed brightly, “Perhaps we can distract him with your fine automobile,” she said leadingly.

Steve took the opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, asking meaningless questions about the car for just long enough that the other man wouldn’t be suspicious of the easy sale. He found himself more and more aware of the way that Darcy’s shoulder’s tightened every time the other man stepped in a little too close, the way her smile wound tighter and tighter by degrees as he kept finding reasons to put his hands on her.

And Steve found himself growing tense, pulling Darcy closer to his side, placing himself between her and the other man. It didn’t seem to deter him, and Steve’s ire only grew.

Finally, the transaction was complete and Steve was itching to depart. Mr. Koulopolis, though, had one last irritation to throw Steve’s way.

“Safe journey, Mrs. Smith,” he said, pulling Darcy’s hand to his lips as she forced a smile. “You must call on me when you return. That is,” he raised a jovial eyebrow at Steve, “if your husband will allow it. I see now, why you put up with him. He may not be a Greek, madam, but any fool would know that you are all he sees.”

Steve slumped into the car with a huff, purposely avoiding Darcy’s gaze. Even the way the false smiles dropped from her face the moment the pulled away and the little moue of distaste that crossed her lips as she looked back at the man waving as they left did nothing to sooth the foul mood that had crept over him.

Thankfully, Nat was happy to drive, so Steve simply pulled his beaten up hat from his bag, pulled it over his face, and resolutely ignored everything else.

+

+

When he woke up, Darcy was fast asleep and Nat was still driving, despite the black darkness outside of the car.

“Nat?” he said quietly, conscious that he didn’t really want Darcy overhearing this conversation.

“Hmmm?”

“Bucky…James…what…what happened in St. Petersburg?”

Nat sighed, but didn’t prevaricate. “I was there for two months on a job. We were together. I didn’t know he was working for Laufeyson, not until right at the end. I don’t think he knew that I was working for Wilson either.”

“Together?” was all Steve could think to ask.

“I thought I was in love with him,” said Natalia, knuckles white on the wheel and gaze straight ahead.

He had never heard Natalia talk about love before, and he had no idea what to say to her. So they just stared out at the narrow strip of the night illuminated by headlights, and somehow the silence was comforting enough.

+

+

By the time they made it to Thermopylae, they were sweat stained and road weary. Darcy’s planning done from Athens, however, proved able and there was already a small camp set up for them in the general area where they planned to dig.

They’d have to relocate tomorrow, now that they had better information as to the probable location of the artifact, but for now they were happy to crawl into their tents and fall fast asleep.

The next morning, as discomfiting as the realization that Darcy could play the part of the proper lady when called upon had been, he thought he’d much prefer it to her current state of dress.

She had procured, no doubt from Natalia, a pair of high wasted trousers that she wore tucked into her boots. One of her serviceable blouses was tied off at the waist and a kerchief was tied functionally over her hair.

“Dr. Rogers,” she called as he blearily exited his tent, “you’re finally up!”

It couldn’t be past seven in the morning. Steve grumbled something about harpies under his breath as he strolled over.

“Dr. Rogers, this is the foreman Mr. Petridis.”

Steve shook the other man’s hand firmly.

“He’s brought a small crew with him. I’ve suggested that we start today by laying out quadrants in the north east corner of the plateau and moving south west across the area.”

Steve at once forgot all about her waist and her slim thighs and anything else positive and glowered. “Why would we waste our time on quadrants? We’re here looking for one artifact, and our best guess puts it somewhere along the south wall. Why not start there and move out if we don’t find it.

Darcy stared at him in what looked like real astonishment, color rising in her cheeks. “This isn’t a _treasure hunt_ Dr. Rogers, we have to document our findings.”

“It’s also not an examination on technique in a _sandbox at the university_.” He fumed back, “when you’ve spent some time in the field, you’ll understand that…”

“I _understand_ perfectly well Rogers,” she poked him firmly in the solar plexus, “what _you_ don’t understand is that your excellent scholarship and connections with Tony Stark have bought you a lot of leeway in the past. You may have discovered some important artifacts, but how much information has been lost in the process? You’ve never _once_ catalogued a potsherd on any one of your field expeditions!”

“Been reading up on me Lewis? You know it’s the worst kind of scholar who reads only to find fault with others,” he felt rather proud of the barb.

“Well it’s the worst kind of Archaeologist who puts glory ahead of knowledge,” she spat back, unfazed. He thought, for a moment, that it was the first time he’d seen her truly unfiltered. “Archaeology is a _science_ Dr. Rogers, not an adventure.”

“Perhaps,” the foreman interrupted in an even voice, “we could start laying out our quadrants on the south wall?”

It was a tactful solution and Steve appreciated the gracious exit from the argument. Not, of course, that he would say such a thing aloud with Darcy’s flushed and angry face no more than a foot away from his.

“Fine,” he said harshly.

“Fine,” Darcy agreed, and then both turned on their heels and walked away.

+

+

Things did not get much better from there. They argued over the appropriate tools to use, how important it was to properly catalogue exposed layers, whether they were best to proceed up the cliff face or move into a wider area of the stony ground.

Even mealtimes were not sacred.

“If you had bothered to review my field notes,” Darcy was leaning over her tin plate with a menacing expression as she wielded her fork at him like a weapon, “you would see that I’ve found at least three dateable artifacts in the west quadrant from the correct time frame. We should focus our efforts there.”

Steve couldn’t contain an amused snort as he leaned back in his chair, “Your field notes? Why would I review all that chicken scratch when you’re going to lecture me about it over dinner anyways?”

“What I’m _saying,_ ” she glowered at him, “is that…”

“What _I’m_ saying,” Steve cut her off as he reached out to pick up a tumbler of cheap whisky, “is that you’ve clearly been frying out in the sun too long today.” It was true enough, her nose was pink and peeling and her hair was doing its best impression of a bird’s nest. “Take a break and have a drink, Lewis.” He slid the bottle her way.

She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed back from the table. “I’m going to go catalogue the day’s findings,” she ground out as she flounced off towards the tent where they had set up several work tables that currently housed their plans and findings.

“So,” said Nat, reaching out and plucking the bottle off the table with nimble fingers, “looks like you’ve found yourself a dateable artifact as well Rogers.”

Natalia looked far too pleased with herself as she kicked back in her chair and dropped her feet onto the rough table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve grouched as he deliberately looked away from Darcy’s retreating form.

Nat raised her eyebrows at him, “She’s got you that nervous, does she?”

“I’m not _nervous_ ,” he fairly growled at her, “she’s just _impossible_.”

“And lord knows how much you love a challenge,” Nat quipped back at him.

“Nat, she’s just here to dig, alright?”

She gazed back at him evenly, her expression far too knowing for Steve’s comfort, “Then why are you needling her like a schoolyard bully?”

Steve let out a long suffering sigh. “Fine Nat, I will go apologize to my _colleague_ if that will get you off my case.” He stood, before pointedly turning back, plucking the bottle of whisky from Nat’s fingers, and storming off after Darcy.

He was not surprised to find her perched at her working table. He was, however, somewhat surprised to find her with her head propped in her hands staring blankly across the tent rather than busily writing as was more typical. She looked up as the tent flap fell closed behind him.

“What?” she said rather sharply, as she dropped her hands into her lap.

Steve held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Hey,” he said, leaning over to put the bottle of whisky on the table, “truce?”

Darcy let out a frustrated huff, but sat back in her chair with her arms folded, regarding him evenly. “I’m just trying to do my job,” she said through clenched teeth. “I understand that I am not who you would prefer to be working with Dr. Rogers, but I’m who you’ve got. I’d appreciate it if we could find a way to work together.”

“What?” for a brief moment, Steve was very confused. And then, in one rather uncomfortable moment, he made a realization: Darcy Lewis had likely been fighting against men like him to get where she wanted to go for her whole life. How was she supposed to know the difference between being challenged as an equal and being road blocked by people who thought she was inferior?

“Dr. Lewis,” he said finally, shifting on his heels and sticking his hands in his pocket, feeling uncomfortably close to the schoolboy Nat had accused him of being, “I want you to listen carefully, because I will probably _never_ say this again.”

She raised an eyebrow at him with an infuriatingly composed expression.

“You are very good at this,” he half mumbled, “and I _like_ working with someone who challenges my ideas, alright? There’s no need to be so uptight about it.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and then she nodded once. “Alright,” she said evenly, but he thought maybe she was fighting back a smile.

“That’s it?” he was rather disappointed. He felt like it a been a reasonably grand gesture. Although he could recognize the fact that basic courtesy felt like a big step didn’t reflect all that well on him.

“Not quite,” and this time she did allow herself a small smile that made her look years younger, “I’ll take that drink now,” she nodded towards the bottle of whisky.

Steve couldn’t help but grin at her as he fished a dusty tumbler off the table behind him and gave it a cursory wipe with the edge of his shirt, “You’re going to have a drink and review your field notes, aren’t you?” he asked resignedly.

“Is that a problem for you Dr. Rogers?” she asked imperiously as he poured her a healthy glass.

“Waste of good whisky,” he said with a wink, before leaving her to her work, feeling oddly elated for no particular reason he could name.

+

+

The air cooled off at night, and given the labor of the day, Steve should have had no problem falling asleep. But he had been restless each time he was left alone with his thoughts these last few days. Ever since he had seen Bucky’s face on the train.

When he did finally drift off, he inevitably found himself dreaming about falling; Bucky falling away from him into the churning waters below.

He sat bolt upright with a start, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead despite the breeze coming through the open flap of his tent. Darcy was there, her hair wild about her head in sleep, haloed by moonlight, an alert tension on her face.

“What?” he asked, immediately reaching for his gun, heedless of the fact that he was wearing nothing more than his undergarments.

“No,” she immediately help up a hand to stop him, “it’s just…I heard you yelling, I thought…”

Steve let out a breath, relaxing back onto his elbows and hastily pulling up his blankets.

“Just a dream,” he said tersely, feeling oddly vulnerable to have been so caught.

“The train?” she asked, a little shyly.

He looked at her quizzically. “How did you…?”

“Me too,” was all she said, “every night. I can’t help but think what if you had been later, or what if your shot had missed and I…” she trailed off and shivered.

Without thinking he, sat forward and passed her his jacket from the foot of his bed, she slipped a little further into the tent, sitting cross legged at his feet as she pulled the jacket over her shoulders.

“You knew him?” she asked quietly. “You know him, I mean?”

“I knew him,” he said, feeling like he needed to tell _someone_ or it would drive him mad. “We were friends as children. He wasn’t much for the books, but an excellent hand in the field. We were in Tangiers scaling a cliff to reach an almost unreachable plateau where the natives used to…that’s…that’s not important. It’s just…he fell. His equipment slipped, and he just fell. We weren’t always careful, but we were always _aware_. We knew Laufeyson was sniffing around, knew the locals were easily agitated, I just never expected…”

A light pressure fell against his ankle as Darcy, reached out to him, her hand small but still comforting.

“But he must have survived then,” she said.

“We never found him,” said Steve, “he fell into the river, and we looked but…he must have made it. But he didn’t know me. I said his name, and he didn’t know me.”

“We’ll find him,” she said staunchly, “we’ll find him or he’ll find us. You’ll get another chance.”

He looked up at her, her eyes open and sympathetic, her teeth biting into her lower lip, her body leaning towards him in an attitude of concern.

He thought, suddenly, of what this would look like to anyone who happened by. He was darkly amused at how far off base they would be.

“You ought to go,” he said wryly.

She blinked, and he regretted the way her usual closed off distance fell back over her face like a mask.

“Wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation if anyone came by,” he said with a raised brow, knowing the effect it would have on her.

As expected, she flushed and moved immediately to the door. She paused, just before ducking out to drop his jacket back to the tent floor.

“Darcy,” he said in a low voice, and she turned warily to look back at him.

“Thank you.”

She nodded mutely, her expression still closed off, but maybe not quite so grim, and slipped back into the night.

+

+

Her kindness and comfort of the night before did nothing to smooth their path the next day. If anything the lack of sleep made their biting comments a little sharper.

“I can handle a pick very well myself Rogers,” she said, elbowing as he approached to help her with a tough section of rock that appeared to be calcified deposits covering what would have been the earlier surface of the wall.

“No need to murder a man for tryin’ to help,” he cut back with more ire than he ought.

She turned back to the wall, punctuating her words with strikes. “I. am. Perfectly. Capable. Of doing. This. Job. _Without you.”_

All of a sudden, the deposit gave way and crumbled, revealing what was clearly the edge of an artificially smooth section of the wall.

They both stopped and looked at each other.

“I’ll get other pick,” said Steve in breathless excitement.

Darcy barely nodded in acknowledgement before they went back to carefully chipping away at the wall. Even Natalia, who had been spending the last few days rolling her eyes at them and keeping her distance, came over to watch as they cleared away the last of the debris with soft brushes.

Into the wall of the rock was carved a flat, smooth circle about two feet in diameter. Into the circle was carved the image of a serpent.

“Look at how sharp the edges on this carving are,” said Steve breathlessly.

“It looks almost as if it were intentionally covered,” Darcy agreed, pressed shoulder to shoulder with him as they examined the rock face closely, “what do you think it m….”

She was very rudely interrupted by a percussive whine and the stinging slap of chipped rock in her face. In a heartbeat, Steve pulled her roughly to the ground behind an outcropping. They could see that Nat had done the same further up the wall.

Steve swore roughly. Three things were immediately and abundantly clear. Firstly, Bucky was shooting at them. Secondly, he did not seem to be in a particularly stable mindset. His wide eyes and shaking hands were visible from where he crouched at the top of the low valley they were digging in. Thirdly, Nat was going to be seen before she could get behind him, which she was currently trying to do by climbing the face of the rock wall like a spider.

“My book,” whispered Darcy in a panic. And Steve could see her leather-bound notebook that contained everything they had learned lying in the dust just past the emblem on the wall.

“It’s just a book, Lewis,” said Steve, pushing her back against the wall, “stay here.”

“And just what are _you_ going to do?” she asked hotly.

“I’m going to create a distraction so Natalia can get behind him and take him down,” he said grimly.

“Steve,” Darcy breathed, “you’ll be shot.”

“I can run pretty fast,” he said, pulling his feet under him and getting ready to make a dash.

Darcy squared her shoulders. “So can I.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Steve harshly, “stay put.”

Darcy glared at him. “Everything we know is in that book. If Laufeyson gets it, we’re done. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let our work get destroyed, I’m coming with you.”

“Why can’t you just _listen_ for once and not be such a goddam stubborn ox?” it was a completely irrational rage. She was right, really. And it’s not like she hadn’t known what she was getting herself into when she came on this trip. He really _should_ let her try to retrieve the book. But _damned_ if he was going to.

“Why can’t you let someone else help you for once in your life?” Darcy hissed back at him, her tone sharp, her cheeks red, and her eyes bright with either excitement or fear. Maybe both.

“Dammit Darcy,” Steve was pressed close to her behind the small outcropping that protected them. Their faces were only inches apart. “I am _not_ going to let you get killed on my watch, not over a damn book.”

“Right, because it’s so much better to just run off and get yourself killed” there was something in her eyes that was more than anger, more than the irritation that usually marked her gaze when they argued.

“You’re infuriating!” Steve cut back at her, his hands wrapped tight around her upper arms.

“You’re reckless!” he could feel her breath against his neck.

“Goddamit Lewis, I can’t stand you sometimes” he was simmering very close to the edge of a full boil.

“Well I can’t stand you either,” said Darcy, her chin tilted up proudly towards him, her mouth set determinedly, her body pressed against his and fire in her eyes.

For one thrilling and terrifying moment, Steve was completely unsure whether he wanted to kiss her or kill her. But the stinging slap of a spray of rick, thrown up by a bullet striking far too close for comfort, broke the moment.

Unwilling to leave her so exposed any longer, he ended the argument by giving her a swift shove, knocking her off balance and onto her backside with an indignant huff.

Without so much as a word, or waiting for her inevitable rage, he turned and sprinted across the dig site, weaving as he drew Bucky’s fire, heading for the other side of the protrusion in the cliff face on which Bucky stood to draw his attention away from Natalia who was climbing the back of it.

He could hear her, following a few feet behind him, but to his relief as the bullets sang out against the rock, she fell against the wall right by the seal with a gasp. He thought he heard the crumbling of stone, but he was too focused on survival at the moment to turn his attention to it. Darcy, much as he was loathe to admit it sometimes, was bright and resourceful and she could deal with this.

Still, he hoped she saw as he ducked, rolled, and grabbed her book before continuing his frantic run.

+

+

The crumbling of the rock revealed a gap; window, door, _transition_ into the place beyond. Deep through it, from some ancient skylight recessed within, a slow spinning haze of late afternoon sun filtered lazily into a room of air un-breathed for thousands of years.

And a girl stepped in.

+

+

Steve was pinned again, on the other side of the embankment on which Bucky stood, stinging shards of rock cutting his face each time a shot rang out.

And then there was a muffled shout, and then nothing.

“Nat?” he tried cautiously.

“Help me bring him down to the camp,” came back Nat’s tightly controlled voice.

As they picked out an easier path down the back of the embankment and around the rock wall, supporting Bucky between them, Steve asked “what did you _do_?” Bucky was much larger than Nat, and yet she had apparently bested him with almost no fight.

“I was sneaky,” Nat said in a flat tone.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I hit him really hard in the head,” she amended with a sad sort of half grin.

Apparently he had a pretty hard head, because he let out a low groan as they settled him down in their camp.

Steve and Nat froze as his eyes opened, focusing in on Steve. Hazy at first but then with growing clarity. Steve’s hand immediately went to his side arm.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice came out low and hoarse.

“Bucky?” Steve immediately dropped to a crouch in front of his friend, looking for some sign of recognition.

“I feel like I’ve been having a really weird dream,” he said in a detached tone. And then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped against the wall.

“Buck?” said Steve in a panic, reaching out for him.

“It’s alright,” said Nat, moving closer, “he’s probably got a concussion, but it looks like it might have knocked some sense into him.” She smiled. It was a small thing, but genuine. “I’ll try to bring him back around, you go find Lewis.”

Oh. Oh, right.

It was not that Steve had forgotten about her. Not for a second. But now he was going to have to go face what would undoubtedly be a fearsome wrath for taking the undoubtedly unforgivable action of _saving her life_.

He squared his shoulders and marched back towards the dig site.

He saw at one that when Darcy had crashed into the wall she had broken the seal. Apparently it had been covering some sort of doorway. He couldn’t even pause to feel the regret of the loss of the ancient seal, because a creeping sense of unease was crawling up his spine. If she had been hiding in there, why hadn’t she come out when the shooting stopped? She must have heard him call up to Nat.

He climbed through the passageway carefully. The visibility was okay. There was some natural opening in the rock above that let some light filter through. The cave appeared to be a natural one, narrow and twisting. In front of him was a stone plinth, the dust on it disturbed. Darcy must have picked something up from it. He peered into the gloomy half-light. At the end of the next curve of the cave, just before his line of sight was cut off was a something on the ground.

Hurrying to it, he carefully crouched to examine it. What appeared to be modern fabric was wrapped carefully around an object. Pulling back the wrappings gently, he saw the edge of a scroll, obviously ancient but well preserved.

He took another look at the wrappings, recognizing suddenly that it was Darcy’s shirt.

He realized two things at nearly the same instant. This must have been what Darcy found near the entrance and there was no way Darcy would let a 1500 year old scroll sit discarded on the ground like this unless something was very very wrong. He sprinted around the corner in a panic and almost immediately pulled up short, frozen to the spot and gasping for air as if the wind had just been knocked out of him.

The cave came to an end in front of him, widening out into an almost circular chamber. In the middle of it stood an altar, and on the ground in a circle around it was what Steve almost absently recognized as one of the most beautiful examples of late Greco-Roman mosaic that he had ever seen. The light in here was different, bluer and colder, and it came down from an opening that must have been in the rock directly over the altar.

Darcy hung there, suspended by nothing Steve could see, as if an invisible cord strung through her chest was pulling her upwards, her body in a graceful arc, her hair loose now and spilling down behind her. In her undershirt, her bare arms glowed like marble in the cool light and he could see resting against her chest, a small amulet on an ancient golden chain.

He let out a choked noise and took a step towards her. “Darcy?” he tried, “what…what’s happening…I…”

All of a sudden her head turned toward him with a startling ferocity, the rest of her suspended form remaining motionless. Her eyes were blank. Not just unfocused, but _blank_. A flat white. Unseeing. And yet Steve felt like she was looking into the heart of him.

“ _He will come_ ,” her voice came through her as if it was not her own, resonant and sibilant. “ _He will come this night. He seeks the future. He seeks the past. He seeks us. He seeks us. He must not have us. He must not. There will be no more walls to hide behind. No walls high enough for the wave that will come…_ ”

Steve had no idea what was happening, no idea what to do, so he simply reacted. He surged forth, wrapping an arm around Darcy’s waist, and _pulled_.

With a resistance like pulling against a vacuum and a high musical scream, she fell towards him, collapsing against him on the ground.

“Darcy?” he tried shakily, pulling himself to a seated position and brushing her hair out of his eyes where she lay across his lap. “Come on, talk to me.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and when she opened them, they were _hers_ again, wide and scared.

“Steve?” she sounded lost, and the contrast of it with her usual certainty made something low in Steve’s gut turn a slow and uncomfortable flip.

“I’m here,” he said, gathering her up against him, “you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

He could feel her shoulders shaking with sobs underneath his arms, feel her tears soaking through his shirt, but he couldn’t think of anything to do, any words to say to comfort her after what he had witnessed.

Footsteps echoed through the cave, moving towards them. Darcy sat up abruptly, wiping her eyes and scrambling to her feet. They were on their feet when Nat and Bucky rounded the corner.

Darcy, obviously still on edge, gripped Steve’s arms as she saw Bucky coming towards them.

“It’s okay,” he said, “right?” he looked back over to the two of them.

“Yeah,” said Bucky wearily, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Sorry about all the shooting.” He looked almost surprised by the absurdity of his own words.

“What’s going on here,” Nat ignored him, her focus on Darcy’s tear streaked face and Steve’s ghost white complexion.

“I’ll be honest with you Nat,” said Steve running a hand through his hair, “I’ll be damned if I know.”

He tried to explain to them what he had seen, what he had heard, but he could see in their eyes that they didn’t quite believe him.

“It was the amulet,” said Darcy miserably. “I fell through the seal and found this place. I found a scroll at the door and then I followed the cave around to this place. All I did was walk across the circle and then the moment a crossed under the light I was…I was nothing…I was just…someone else, _something_ else…I…” she shrugged helplessly.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have put on an ancient amulet,” said Nat, not unkindly, but certainly skeptically.

“I _didn’t_ ,” said Darcy miserably.

“Then maybe you should take it off.” Bucky looked spooked. Steve didn’t blame him. Must be a weird day for him.

“I’ve been trying,” she said, on the edge of tears, “I can’t. It won’t let me.”

“Darcy,” said Steve gently, “I haven’t seen you try to…”

“I _can’t”_ she almost shouted back at him, “I can’t raise my arms to do it.”

“Let me,” said Steve, reaching out to the simple hook clasp that sat at the back of her neck. With a low flash he was thrown back against the wall of the cave with a bone jarring thud the moment he touched it.

There was a long, stunned silence. “What the _hell_ is going on here?” asked Nat.

“Something really weird,” said Bucky, “but we don’t really have the time to sit around here and panic. Laufeyson will be coming. I don’t know when, but I…”

“ _WE MUST GO NOW_ ” that same, strange, not Darcy voice came from Darcy’s mouth, her eyes blank and cold, her sightless stare directed at Steve.

It was only a moment, a flash, and then Darcy was back, looing paler. She stumbled and Steve rushed over to support her.

“Okay,” said Steve tentatively, “now I realize that I’m not usually one for obeying strange unexplained phenomena, but I think we should go.”

“Yeah,” said Nat, looking at Darcy very carefully. “I think you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyone who read the first part yesterday may note some super sneaky ninja edits if you go back and read it again. Or, if your Greek geography is pretty good, you may have already realised that Thermopylae is north of Athens and not south. It's my own fault. Early on in drafting I did a switch up of Sparta and Thermopylae and neglected to make some necessary directional edits as a result. You guys don't care about this at all do you? You can just ignore this :)


	4. Part 3 - Thermopylae, Greece

**Thermopylae, Greece**

They were on the road in little more than an hour, their essential supplies packed, most of the rest belonging to the foreman and the workers anyways. Steve had given Nat a location on the map and she was driving as fast as she reasonably could on the narrow winding roads that lead north.

Darcy, thankfully, was asleep in the passenger seat. Whatever that voice had been, it hadn’t yet made a reappearance.

Bucky was staring firmly out the window. And Steve was staring at Bucky.

“I’m not going to dissolve into thin air over here Rogers,” Bucky eventually said in a low and somewhat resigned tone.

“I’m sorry,” said Steve at one, “it’s just…I…you were _dead_ Buck…”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” said Bucky at once, sharply.

Darcy stirred briefly, but settled back into sleep.

“Where _were_ you?” Steve finally asked

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky said firmly.

A long silence drew out between them.

“Okay,” said Steve, as much as he wanted to press. And after a moment, even though it felt like a silly thing to say, and far less than he meant, he added “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Things had been so crazy that it hadn’t really seeped into him yet that he had his best friend back. Life didn’t often give you breaks like this, and Steve felt the thrill of it crawl up his spine.

Bucky finally turned his head and smiled at him, a shadow of his old roguish grin, but still him.

“Me too.”

Steve could see that he was considering something, and kept quiet.

Finally, Bucky said “I was with Laufeyson. I woke up in a hospital and he was there. I almost lost my arm, and there we doctors there that…” he flexed his left hand, the metal moving with a low whir of mechanical parts, “I didn’t remember _anything_ and the _lies_ he filled my head with Steve…” Bucky trailed off and pulled himself together.

“I think he knew who I was to you. I think he was training me for this, to use against you. He’s…” Bucky took a steadying breath. “Well, I would have said crazy, but given what’s happened today, I’m starting to think he might know a little more about the weird shit that’s out there than we do. And he’s dangerous Steve. You wouldn’t believe how dangerous. I never met the people he was working with, but I heard enough to know that they’ve got more than just money and influence. Whatever we have…whatever that _thing_ is, he wants it badly. This isn’t just some historical trinket to display. If he gets hold of this…he wants it too badly for anything good to come of it.” Bucky finished darkly.

Steve had heard the rumors, not just his reckless disregard of human life in the pursuit of wealth and treasure, but darker rumors about back room deals, dirty politicians, and the slow creep of Laufeyson’s influence in places it shouldn’t be.

“He sure as hell ‘aint going to get it,” said Steve, his gaze focused on Darcy.

Bucky looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a familiar quirk to his lips.

“Oh shut up,” Steve slumped back against the seat, willing the blush creeping up his neck away. He had forgotten how Bucky saw through him like he was an open window. And then he grinned at the familiarity of it.

To his right, he saw that Bucky was doing to same.

+

+

“Who’s place is this again?” asked Natalia as they pulled up in front of a sprawling country estate.

“Tony’s, technically,” said Steve, “But really a friend of his lives here full time. A scientist, I think, and a scholar. He’s likely to have an excellent library, if Tony had anything to do with it. We should be able to make some headway on this thing while we lay low.”

“You’re actually going to _lay low_?” asked Bucky incredulously.

“What, you think we should go out looking for Laufeyson?” Steve asked.

“No, no. Laying low makes the most sense. It’s just…I suppose you’ve grown up a bit. I remember your plans being more run headfirst into danger than lay low.”

Natalia snorted.

“Oh, he hasn’t grown up that much,” she said with a roll of her eyes as Steve climbed out and walked to the passenger door to carefully lift a still sleeping Darcy out of the car.

Bucky caught Nat’s gaze with a grin, “Always was better at taking care of everyone else rather than himself,” he said quietly.

To their surprise, Dr. Bruce Banner himself opened the door for them. “Come in, come in,” he said, ushering them in quickly.

“Is she alright?” he asked, inclining his head towards Darcy, “I have some medical training…”

“Just exhausted, I think,” said Steve. “She…well, it’s sort of a long story.”

“I gathered that impression from Tony’s telegram,” he said with an expression that suggested getting that kind of message from Tony was not altogether uncommon. “Let me show you to her room and then perhaps we can meet in the Library?”

+

+

After Darcy had been settled, still dead to the world, causing a deepening worry line to form between Steve’s eyes, they met Dr. Banner is his extensive and well-appointed library and tried to explain the situation to him.

“Well,” said Dr. Banner, “it seems like the first important thing to do is going to be to lead Laufeyson on a bit of a chase to give you some time to figure out that scroll you’ve recovered.”

“Natalia and I could go,” said Bucky, “It’s Steve and Dr. Lewis who are really the scholars.”

“No,” said Steve quickly, “We can’t risk Laufeyson finding you, Buck. Once he knows you’re no longer with him, he’ll move faster, send someone else.”

“You think he won’t do that anyways when he hears nothing?” asked Nat.

“The confusion might buy us some time,” said Steve, “and besides, who’s going to watch our backs while we try to figure this thing out if you two leave?”

“Dr. Rogers is right,” said Bruce, “I was about to suggest that I take your car and see if I can’t draw his attention.”

“Dr. Banner,” Steve began, “we’ve already asked too much…”

“Nonsense,” he said with a half-smile, “I’m quite sure Tony sent you to me because he knew I’d been alone out here too long. It would be a…release to feel useful again. Although,” he paused, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I do hope you won’t mind if I can’t return the car to you undamaged?”

Steve got the distinct impression that Dr. Banner was somewhat more than met the eye. Well, he supposed, if he’s a friend of Tony’s…

“Dr. Banner,” he said, “consider the car only the beginning of our debt to you.”

The older man nodded once, an excitement behind his eyes that made Steve feel much less of a burden and much more comfortable that Dr. Banner could actually provide a real distraction if he put his mind to it.

“If you’ll excuse me then,” he said, “I have some preparations to make.”

“Well,” said Steve wearily as Dr. Banner left them, “I guess I should get started on that scroll,” he looked over to where they had carefully laid it out on a table in the library.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Bucky immediately, “you’re dead on your feet.”

“James is right,” echoed Nat. “We should all sleep. You can get to work in the morning.”

He was exhausted. They all were. But he felt far to jumpy and ill at ease to settle easily into bed. So he was alert to the noises in the hall as he heard the scuffling of two pairs of booted feet just outside his door.

“Natalia,” it was Bucky’s voice, low and uncertain.

“You don’t need to do this James,” she said calmly, “I think Laufeyson has put you through enough, don’t you? You don’t need to add me to your burdens.”

“What if I want to?” Steve found himself sharply focused on their low conversation. He knew he shouldn’t. But he was undoubtedly curious about what lay between his friend and Natalia. And he didn’t think he had ever heard the kind of aching sincerity that Bucky was now laying out in whispered tones.

“What do you remember?” Nat’s question in return was hesitant.

“Things are fuzzy...I think they always were, ever since I woke up in that hospital. I don’t know what he was doing to me, but you…you’re crystal clear Nat. I don’t think I could ever forget your face.”

“You did though,” and Steve barely heard her breath catch, “you did. One morning, you were just gone, and I never saw you again.”

“Natalia, I’m so sorry, if I had met you when I was…myself, I would have”

“Would have what?”

“Well, I would have made some very different choices,” and it sounded a bit like the Bucky Steve had known before, confident and certain.

“Like what?”

Steve didn’t hear a response, but he had a few guesses as to what it was, and he heard only one door down the hall close.

He smiled a little to himself, because Bucky had always had a way with the dames; even, it turns out, with Natalia. It made Steve recall how poorly he had always stacked up against Bucky in that regard.

And, despite the several years they had been apart, nothing seemed to have changed. Bucky was in the bed of a woman that Steve had always thought of as un-beddable. And Steve was lying wide awake, alone, thinking about the stubborn, contradictory, _brilliant_ woman across the hall.

He had never been all that good with women. Because he had been a late bloomer, he had stayed home a lot and taken more than his fair share of rejection while others had been learning the impenetrable process of flirting and dating and “going steady.” He could admit to himself now that he’d grown out of his ugly duckling phase, but with such a late start, he’d never really caught up.

Oh, he’d figured out flirting easily enough, and he’d lost at least some of his shyness along the way. What he hadn’t ever learned, and he could admit that it was largely by choice, was the protocol. That vaguely dishonest veneer of “the way things were done” that seemed to permeate society with a depressing sort of regularity.

It wasn’t as though there was a shortage of women who would try, but when they discovered he didn’t know how to complement their dress or make small talk or dance and that he was far more interested in taking them to see a unique discovery in the dusty catacombs of the museum than out to a nice dinner, they inevitably moved on.

Darcy, he thought, would probably love to see the catacombs. Probably knew them better than he did, really.

He let out a low groan and pulled a pillow over his face as if it could block out his thoughts. She was in trouble, dammit, and she didn’t need his kind of trouble added on top of it. He couldn’t exactly promise anything approaching stability, the way he would always be heading off to uncivilized parts of the world to dig in the dirt for months at a time. And the way his expeditions always seemed to lead to him being shot at.

Darcy Lewis was smart, and driven. She deserved more than a mostly poverty stricken professor of archeology that brought trouble down on everyone around him. Christ, look at what he had done to Bucky. No, Darcy Lewis had been swimming upstream her entire life, and he wasn’t about to be the one to pull her down.

+

+

His sleep that night was uneasy and interrupted. He thought, several times, that he heard sounds of distress from Darcy’s room, but whenever he rose to investigate, he heard nothing through the door.

They were both unrested and anxious as they sat down in the library in front of the scroll the next morning, Nat and Bucky prowling the grounds as if they were preparing for a war.

“It’s an odd dialect,” said Steve, squinting at the faded and scrawled Greek on the page. “It looks more like hieratic in places…”

“You’re right,” said Darcy, “not unlike the original scroll that was found in Alexandria. Whoever that letter was meant for, the message must have reached Greece some other way. I wonder if the writer took the message himself, in the end. The hand looks similar, doesn’t it?”

“You can write your dissertation on it later,” said Steve, but his smile was indulgent rather than impatient, “let’s focus on figuring out the here and now, shall we?”

Darcy snorted, and Steve raised an eyebrow, “Sorry,” she said unapologetically, “but the here and now is apparently a cursed amulet dating back at least to the reign of Theodosius.”

“Actually,” Steve was distracted, as he finally found the word he had been looking for in the recesses of his brain, “not cursed, I don’t think, look here.” He pointed at the first sentence of the parchment. “I couldn’t place this word here, but if we’re dealing with a sort of Egyptian Greek blending of the language it make sense, doesn’t it?”

“It looks like an elision of the Egyptian akh and the Greek ἐνσωμάτωσις, doesn’t it,”* said Darcy, parsing the phrase, “the akh embodiment?”

“Embodied by the akh spirit of the Pythia,” suggested Steve, “this first sentence says _whosoever crosses the circle and lays hands on the_ what is that, the idol? The statue of?”

“Totem” offered Darcy breathlessly.

“The _totem of the Pythia,_ ” Steve agreed, “ _shall be embodied by the akh spirit of the Pythia and shall bring the truth of Apollo down on earth once more._ ”

“So,” said Darcy weakly, “I suppose you were wrong about the Pythia actually being an object then?”

“I suppose so,” agreed Steve, “Although this is still very exciting. That totem must be much older than this letter. It almost looks pre-classical. And a Greek mythical figure taking on an Egyptian characteristic, the akh spirit, that’s somewhat unusual. Most of the blending works the other way around.”

“I don’t suppose it says anything about how to take the damn thing off, does it?”

Steve immediately forgot his historical fervor at the tremble in her tone.

“Hey,” he said, laying his hand on her shoulder, “we’ll figure it out. There has to be some sort of reasonable explanation. Like the theory that the oracle at Delphi sits on a subterranean vent. Maybe we were just…hallucinating or something…whatever it was, it hasn’t happened since, right?”

“Right,” she said, looking at him like she was willing herself to believe it but not having much success.

And he suddenly realized that her skin was warm under his hand and her wide eyes were very close and he had promised himself he would keep his distance.

He moved away abruptly and turned back to the parchment.

“Here,” he said after a tense moment, “something about release.”

“Yes,” she said in a strained voice, “ _once the akh spirit has been released on earth, only a return to Apollo will free the vessel._ ” She translated, “ _A burnt offering on the three part shrine will open the door_.” She paused, “I will never understand why ancient priests felt such a need to be so damnably mystic.”

“He must mean the tripod,” said Steve, “the tripod that burned before the Pythia at Delphi, but how the hell are we supposed to find out what happened to that?”

“The same way we find everything else Dr. Rogers,” said Darcy a trifle primly, “we research.”

+

+

It was well past noon before they thought to break for lunch. Each had retreated to their own corner of the library to work, a tension hanging over the room like a fog. Partly, no doubt, due to the circumstances that they found themselves in. But Steve knew, by the way they occasionally caught each other casting glances across the room, by the way his gut tightened every time she brushed past him to retrieve a book, by the way she looked at him curiously as he made sure to keep distance between them when before he had taken an immature pleasure in invading her personal space, that it was more than that.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that they walked into the kitchen to find Bucky pressed close to Natalia in an unmistakably intimate posture. The two sprang apart and went on as if nothing had happened, but the incident made it increasingly difficult to ignore the distant battle lines and battlements of books that had sprung up in the library.

He could see her confusion as he kept pushing her away. Even the somewhat fraught détente they had reached at the dig was slipping away. There, they had worked together and had built something like camaraderie, even when they disagreed. And Steve felt the lack of it with a dull ache.

It was for the best though. He was firmly avoiding sorting out what it is that he actually felt for Darcy Lewis, but whatever it was, she was better off without him. Not as a colleague and not as anything else. He would get her through this, see her safely back to New York, and then he would walk away.

They were sitting on opposite sides of the library late into the evening when it happened again. He heard Darcy cry out from across the room, and he rushed over to find her sitting stock still, her back as straight as iron and her eyes blank and unseeing.

“ _Searching, searching,_ ” that same _elsewhere_ voice rolled out from Darcy’s mouth, “ _searching for you. His plaything is broken, but he has others. He is searching, searching…_ ” Steve cautiously put a hand on her arm and she collapsed at once.

Unlike the first time, she did not immediately come back to herself, she lay slumped and unmoving for so long that Steve had begun to panic by the time she blinked and painfully opened her eyes. She looked as if she immediately regretted it.

“Ow,” she said softly, putting her head down on her table.

“What happened?” Steve asked urgently, “what did that mean?”

“Mean?” asked Darcy, “Did I say something?”

“You said…he was searching? Who is searching?”

“Laufeyson,” said Darcy, carefully pulling herself upright, “I was thinking that it would be very nice if we just _knew_ where he was so we could focus on our work and stop worrying about him and then…I saw him, out looking for us. He was so angry, I think about losing James, and he’s got someone else with him now. He looks…he looks violent.” She shuddered.

“Did you see _where_ he was?” Steve asked.

“Not exactly,” she said, and then a small smile crossed her face, “but he’s certainly nowhere near here. There was terraced farmland where he was. Nothing like that within miles of here.”

Steve let out a breath. “So you got your answer,” he said with relief.

“Yeah,” said Darcy with a curious expression, “I did. Ask me something else,” she said quickly.

“Do you really think it works like that?” asked Steve, “you don’t really believe that this is Apollo speaking through you, do you?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” said Darcy, “but I’m damn sure we’re not experiencing some prolonged hallucination at this point, so _ask me_.”

Steve threw his hands up in surrender, “Fine, it’d be really nice to find out the latest extant evidence of that damn tri-pod!”

Almost at once, Darcy’s eye went blank, but this time instead of that stiff posture, she stood, walking mechanically to a shelf in the library and pulling a book from the shelf.

The book fell to the floor with a thud and Steve only just managed to get his arms under Darcy’s elbows before she did the same. He swiftly shifted so he could get an arm under her knees and set her down on the small chaise in the library.

There was a slow trickle of blood running out of her nose and she wasn’t moving.

“Nat!” he hollered out the door of the library, knowing they’d be within earshot, “Bucky!”

By the time they made it into the library, Darcy was slowly coming back to herself.

“Here,” Steve said, awkwardly hovering over her prone form offering her a slightly grubby handkerchief, which she pressed to her nose as she looked up at him, their faces only inches apart.

“What happened?” asked Nat, brusquely pushing Steve out of the way, taking Darcy’s face between her hands and carefully surveying her.

“It’s getting worse,” Darcy managed in a hoarse tone. “I don’t know if it’s just repetition or if it’s because we’re so far from where it started. But it didn’t hurt the first time, but now…”

Her white face and shaking hands were explanation enough.

“Hey,” said Bucky, a few feet away, “What’s this?” he picked up the book that Darcy had dropped. It was a glossy printed book of photos, treasures from private collections around Europe. It was the sort of book Steve and Darcy would have slid over in scholarly distain.

But right there on the cover was a photo of a low and age tarnished tripod holding a shallow bowl of intricately inlaid gold.

“That’s it,” said Steve breathlessly, taking the book from Bucky and flipping to the item’s listing, “it has to be. Look here, it says that this item was part of a series of items stolen in the 1920s by…” he looked up at Nat with wide eyes, “Johann Schmidt.”

“No,” Nat said firmly, picking up the book, “It can’t be.”

“It makes sense,” said Bucky weakly, “He was always big on mysticism. I know that there’s a warehouse full of artifacts just outside of Munich…”

“You don’t think….” Nat trailed off looking at Steve.

“It must be…” Steve said darkly, “That’s why you heard so many rumors of bigger things to come.” He nodded at Bucky.

“What are you talking about,” Darcy cut in sharply.

“Schmidt works for the Nazis” said Steve darkly, “he and his sect, Hydra, have been stealing artifacts for years. Laufeyson must be working for them…or they for him.”

“Steve,” said Bucky breathlessly, “If the Nazis get a hold of whatever Darcy has… if it’s real…”

He was interrupted as Darcy let out an ear splitting shriek before clutching her head.

“No!” she cried out, “no no no...”

And then she was utterly silent for a moment, blank and still, “ _Before the next sun rises_ ,” she intoned, “ _your chance will pass_.”

This time, she didn’t wake up. Her breathing was shallow but steady and Natasha’s fingers found a thready but consistent pulse, but even Nat’s sharp slap across the face did nothing to bring her around.

“We have to do this _now_ ,” said Steve harshly, as the three of them stood a short distance away from Darcy’s prone form in the library, “or we’re going to lose our chance and we’re going to lose _her_.”

“We can’t just leave her here,” said Bucky.

“Steve’s right,” they all turned sharply as Darcy’s weak voice came from behind them.

She struggled to sit up until Natasha stepped over and put a strong arm behind her back. “You need to rest,” she said firmly to the other woman.

“I’ll rest a hell of a lot easier once I can get rid of…whatever this is,” she said staunchly.

Nat looked over at Bucky worriedly, but he just shrugged. “If Dr. Lewis says she’s up to it, then I’m with Steve. We should pack up and go.”

“Goddamit Darcy,” Steve muttered under his breath as she stood shakily, but seeing the determination in her eyes, and knowing that they had no time to argue about whether it was safe for her to come if they were going to do this, he nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

+

+

“Darcy,” he carefully pushed open the door to the room where she had been staying.

Nat and Bucky were down by the car, ready to go. He had been elected to go find out why Darcy wasn’t.

She was sitting on the bed, her things half packed, staring at the white dress she had worn to play out Natalia’s ruse in her hands.

“We’re ready to go,” he tried, when she didn’t respond. “Do you…need some help?”

“I’m just…” she let out a heavy sigh, “this is crazy.”

Steve felt oddly better to hear her say it. She had been so stoic and calm about whatever the hell it was that was going on, and that made him feel worse about how calm he really wasn’t.

“Yeah, it is.” He carefully perched beside her on the bed. “You could stay here, if you wanted?” He tried tentatively, knowing the answer even before she said it.

“No,” she answered quickly, “No, I want to go. I want to do something…real.”

“Now what the hell does that mean?” He didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he had long since given in to the fact that he was never really going to understand her.

“I just…my whole life…I’ve just…I’m _nothing_ really,” she shrugs with a sort of half laugh half sob.

He sat there, unsure of how to answer, unused to her…or anyone, really, placing this kind of trust in him.

“I’ve never been out in the field, no one pays attention to my work once they know who I am. I’ve been working around the edges, trying to slip through the cracks. Everything I’ve done, I’ve had to hide myself to do it. I’m just…I know who I am, I suppose, and it’s never been _enough_.” She let out a humorless laugh.

“Hey,” Steve out a hand on her arm impulsively, despite his promise to avoid examining his feelings, despite his promise to keep his distance, “I know who you are,” he said, looking at her steadily, “and you are not _nothing._ You are _more_ than enough, okay?” It was more than he had wanted to say, but still so far from enough. He thought, in that moment, that he would do anything to convince her of it.

She looked back at him for a long moment, her blue eyes blurred with unshed tears.

“Ready to go?” he asked finally, his throat suddenly dry.

“Yes,” she said finally with a careful expression, “I’m ready.”

+

+

It was a long few hours’ drive north in the late afternoon light to catch a plane to Germany. Darcy was in the back seat, determinedly reading all she could from the scroll before they reached their destination.

Steve tried valiantly to avoid just watching her, but mostly failed.

She looked delicate in a way he wasn’t used to. Exhaustion and stress and pain somehow wearing her thin at the edges.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like _caring_ about it. He didn’t like the way that looking at her made his gut churn and his mouth go dry.

But he couldn’t stop.

+

+

Getting on the flight with false passports, produced by Nat and Bucky with alarming little difficulty, went off without a hitch. As they bumped across the landing strip just outside Munich, Steve could see immediately that getting _off_ the flight was going to be a bit harder.

“Nat,” he hissed, she and Bucky were sitting in the two seats ahead of them, “we have a problem.”

“What, you mean our welcoming crew?” Nat answered grimly, looking out the small, cloudy window.

Out on the tarmac, off to the side of the airline employees, stood two armed soldiers in the brown uniforms of the Nazis. There was nothing terribly unusual about that given the climate in Germany these days, but they were scanning the faces of the departing passengers with an unusual focus.

“They’re looking for us?” Bucky asked with a sort of amused resignation, “of _course_ they are.”

“Well,” Darcy suggested hesitantly, “there’s only two of them. You’d think if they knew what flight we were on, they would have sent more.”

“You’re right,” said Nat, with a mixture of surprise and approval, “and they are being awfully casual about their job as well. Not exactly crack soldiers, by the look of them.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Steve in a tense whisper.

“The most they can have is a photo or descriptions,” said Nat, unwinding her scarf with alacrity and wrapping it around Bucky’s neck, “so all we have to do is look as different from _us_ as possible.”

They let Nat and Bucky go first, walking separately so they couldn’t be identified as a group. He breathed a little easier as they made it past the soldiers without so much as a second glance. Although, the way Bucky affected the posture of a somewhat foppish high end traveler and the way that Natasha managed to look like his vacant and easily impressed companion made him think that they were a bit better at this than he and Darcy.

“You ready?” he whispered down to Darcy. She had let her hair down and taken off her stiff coat, replacing it with his own leather jacket which swamped her frame. He had pulled his glasses from his case and Nat had fashioned him a reasonable tie from a scarf she had in her bag. Darcy, on the other hand, had removed her glasses and, along with her pallor and exhaustion, looked nothing like the sharp and unapproachable scholar that had met him at the airport what seemed like forever ago.

“I’m ready,” she said with determination, and then slipped her arm through his and leaned her head against his arm as they walked forward, doing her best to hide her features while pretending to be an airsick traveler.

They almost made it.

They were inside the small terminal before the soldiers began to turn and follow them. Steve could see Bucky and Nat sitting in a car just outside. He dropped his hand to Darcy’s hip and pulled her along a little faster towards the door.

“Entschuldigen sie mich, mein herr,”^ the voice of the soldiers behind them cut out in a sharp order just as a hand fell on his soldier.

“Uhhh, yes?” Steve did his best to look innocent as he turned, pulling Darcy a little closer as she turned her head against him, “did you need something? My wife is very sick and we need to…”

“Der reisepass, mein herr.”^^

It was quite clear, by the expression on the man’s face, that the jig was up.

“Uhhhh, of course,” Steve patted around his pockets as he realized with a sudden lurch that his gun was currently in the case that Darcy was carrying across her shoulder. “Darling?” Darcy looked up at him as he spoke to her, the look on her face somewhere between reasonably good acting and containing laughter at his obnoxiously sugary tone, “These men need our passports, could you find them in your bag?”

Darcy, quickly realizing what was going on, slid the bag off her shoulder and held it open to him as Steve rooted around for a moment until his hand closed around his gun.

“Did you find them sweetheart?” Darcy asked with a far too innocent flutter of lashes.

Steve took a breath, “Got it,” and in one smooth motion, he brought his gun up and fired, hitting the soldier to the right in his shoulder and sending him spiraling to the ground. As he turned to fire again, he was surprised to see Darcy neatly swinging the heavy bag around to strike directly in the other soldier’s crotch. The man doubled over with a groan and Steve quickly put him out of the picture with a right cross.

He looked over at Darcy in wide eyed shock.

“You can be impressed later Rogers,” said Darcy, a little breathlessly, “we should probably run now.”

More soldiers were approaching from across the terminal, guns drawn. Steve blinked for a moment, and then burst into action, sprinting for the door with Darcy in tow. Bucky had thrown the back door of the car open and they were no sooner inside that Natasha tore out of the airport with the smell of burning rubber.

It didn’t take long to lose any pursuers in traffic, and after a few tense moment of keeping a sharp eye on their rear view mirror, Natasha let out a breath of relief and the tension in the car began to settle.

“Well,” said Bucky, “I don’t suppose our arrival will have escaped Laufeyson’s attention.”

“They knew who we were before they stopped us,” said Steve, “Don’t know how, but we weren’t ever going to get out of there clean.”

“So opening fire was your next best idea?” said Nat, with a raised eyebrow.

“Didn’t exactly have a lot of options,” said Steve easily, riding a bit of an adrenaline high.

Darcy’s half suppressed laugh at what really wasn’t much of a joke suggested that she was in a similar place.

“Well,” said Nat, rolling her eyes at them, “we’ve got about an hour before we get to the warehouse, so you’ve got some time to come up with some better ones before we show up to what will undoubtedly not be a warm welcome.”

As the thrill of an escape started to fade and the reality of what they were heading towards began to sink in, they fell mostly into silence. Bucky and Nat were having a muted conversation about the best route as they moved out of the city streets and into countryside. Steve leaned over to Darcy, who was resting against the window with her eyes shut.

“Darcy?” he said softly, so as not to wake her if she was sleeping.

“Hmmm?” she didn’t open her eyes.

“Nice shot,” he said, and smiled as her lips turned up in a grin.

+

+

They pulled to a stop far enough to stay out of sight of the warehouse up ahead. There was a car pulled up in front of it, but otherwise it did not seem to be heavily guarded.

“He’s here,” said Nat, pulling a gun belt from the trunk of the car and strapping it on.

“Of course he’s here _,_ ” growled Steve, glaring at the car as he pulled his leather jacket over the gun strapped to his side.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” said Darcy climbing out of the car, “we’ve still got to get in there.”

“Girl’s got a point,” said Bucky with a grin.

“They’ve gotta be watching, not much of a chance of getting in there without being noticed,” said Nat, looking out over the rocky landscape, devoid of cover.

“So we don’t try,” said Steve.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, “So, what, you just wanna walk right up to the front door?”

“Exactly,” said Steve.

Bucky let out a low laugh. “Just like Alexandria all over again hey,” he said, pointedly clipping more ammunition to his belt.

“Hey,” said Steve indignantly, “Alexandria worked out just fine!”

“Yeah?” asked Bucky, “How’s your knee.”

“Aches in the winter,” Nat answered for him at his affronted look. “He whines about it like an old lady.”

“Darcy,” Steve cut across the conversation sharply, “What the hell do you think you’re doing.”

It was quite obvious, really. She was strapping a gun to her waist.

“I should think that would be rather obvious,” she said to Steve with a roll of her eyes.

“Look,” he said, squaring himself against her stubborn stance, “I know you can handle a lot, but we’re walking into a fire fight here. You’re not coming,” he said firmly, “you are going to sit here with the car, and if we’re not back in half an hour, you’re going to take off and call Stark.”

“The hell I am,” she said calmly. “Laufeyson’s got a maximum of four men with him. Four on five is much better than three.”

“Yeah, except you don’t know how to use that thing,” he said, gesturing at the gun.

“Well he doesn’t know that, does he?” she said practically.

“She’s got a point,” said Nat “And based on that last…whatever it was, she’s going to be in just as much danger if we don’t get what we came for.”

Steve saw immediately that it was three against one. The sun was setting and time was wasting, so he just grit his teeth and handed Darcy an extra clip of ammo.

“The release for the clip is here,” he pointed, “Watch out for the recoil and don’t put your finger in the trigger unless you’re going to fire. And if you get yourself killed…” he warned, his stomach sinking at the thought of her walking into what waited for them.

“Some of your work might actually get published?” she suggested mildly.

Bucky snorted at the expression on Steve’s face, but Nat was focused.

“Alright,” she said, “Let’s do this.”

Steve was at the very least right about the fact that they were going to make it to the front door. He knew Laufeyson too well at this point to doubt that he’d want to gloat.

Also, in a rare bit of luck, Laufeyson had only three other men with him.

However, he had unfortunately been able to figure out a bit more about what was going on than they would have hoped. He could see, in the dusty corridors between the stacked crates that filled the warehouse, the dull gleam of the tripod already unpacked from its crate. Laufeyson must have some use for it. Steve would bet a lot of money that it wasn’t about getting whatever this was out of Darcy, and that it was highly unlikely to be good for her health.

“Miss Lewis,” he said as he opened the door, flanked by men with guns trained squarely on them, “How nice of you to come.”

“Leave her out of this,” Steve placed himself between Laufeyson and Darcy, “lets settle this like gentlemen for once.”

Laufeyson shook his head regretfully, “Unfortunately Dr. Rogers, your Ms. Lewis is at present the most valuable artifact I have ever pursued, and I will have her.”

He could feel Darcy’s hand clutch at his elbow.

“The hell you will,” Steve growled back, “And it’s _Doctor_ Lewis.”

“Now is _really_ not the time,” Darcy hissed at him from behind his shoulder.

“Pythia,” Laufeyson raised his voice, looking past Steve to Darcy behind him, “I beseech you, tell me what I must have to rule.”

Behind him, he felt Darcy stiffen.

 _“He who controls the wisdom of the pythia controls the world.”_ Came that same strange voice from her mouth.

Steve barely turned in time to catch her as she fell like a puppet with her strings cut.

The distraction was enough that in seconds, Laufeyson’s men had their weapons and Nat and Bucky were left with their hands in the air, while Steve held Darcy, still limp and pale, upright.

“As always Dr. Rogers, you are too concerned with preserving pretty things and hopelessly ignorant of the value in possessing them.”

“She’s a _person_ ,” spat Steve, “you can’t possess her.”

Laufeyson leaned in close, his normally carefully controlled face sinister and spiteful. “Watch me.”

One of his henchman placed the barrel of a gun against Steve’s head as Laufeyson swiftly pulled the still unconscious Darcy away from Steve, holding her slumped for upright with arm.

Steve became aware of two things in very quick succession. Firstly, he saw that Laufeyson hadn’t noticed the small pistol tucked into the waist of Darcy’s pants.

Second, he saw her very slowly and deliberately open her eyes just a crack, wink at him, and drop her eyelids again.

They were only going to get one shot at this.

“Laufeyson,” he hollered as the other man began to back away. “You say I’m ignorant, but there’s one very important thing you forgot.”

“Oh?” Laufeyson sneered, “And what is that Dr. Rogers.”

“You _constantly_ underestimate people,” he said with a swift grin, before he grabbed the arm of the man holding him, flipping him to the floor and pulling his gun.

Laufeyson laughed at him, “Dr. Rogers, I’ve still got two armed men to your one. What exactly is the advantage you think you’ve gained here.”

“Oh,” said Steve in a positively jovial tone, “I wasn’t talking about me.”

The slow click of a bullet loading into a chamber caused Laufeyson to turn sharply to where Darcy, unrestrained and now standing easily under her own power, had a loaded gun trained on his head in a very convincing imitation of someone who had every intention of firing it.

In the moment of surprise, he heard Nat and Bucky struggling with their captors.

“That,” said Loki in a voice like ice, “was a very stupid idea.”

Heedless of the gun pointed at his head, he swung out and backhanded Darcy. Steve lunged forward, diving for Loki’s knees and bringing them both crashing to the ground.

He could hear shots ringing out as two of the henchman pinned Nat and Bucky behind a stack of crates, exchanging fire.

He moved to get up and pull Darcy out of the way, but the goon behind him grabbed a leg and pulled, sending him painfully crashing against the floor.

Darcy crawled furiously backwards, pressing herself against the rickety iron shelving.

“Not so fast Ms. Lewis,” Loki trained her dropped firearm on her. “You stay right where you are while I deal with Dr. Rogers and his friends.”

He heard her let out a low noise of protest, and he dimly recognized it was because Laufeyson’s enormous henchman had just punched him in the face, but his ears were ringing so badly that it was hard to connect to it.

Steve was no slouch, and he put up a good fight, but there were some things that no amount of quick thinking could outmatch. Laufeyson’s henchman was one of those things.

Lying on the floor, his gaze swimming, he could see that Bucky was trying to distract the other two men while Natalia inched towards the tripod. And he saw the exact moment where one of the men realized what was happening. With a swift motion, the two men closed in on Bucky, a vicious butt of a gun leaving him out cold on the ground.

Nat managed to dance out of their way for a few moments, but one of them sent a heavy, unbalanced crate crashing down on her in the next aisle and all Steve could see now were here feet, still and unmoving.

Thinking he was out cold, the third henchman had left Steve to lend his assistance, and Steve knew he wouldn’t get another chance. With a staggering, lurching run, he grabbed Darcy by the elbow, pulled her down into the next aisle, and shoved them both into a narrow gap between crates, hiding them from view behind an overturned crate that had fallen into the aisle in front of them.

“Rogers!” Loki shouted, all of his cultured veneer absent “Your friends have failed, my men have you surrounded. Give up, and I may not kill you.”

He looked around frantically, his eyes coming to rest on a bronze shield lying in the aisle just outside of their hiding place. “Listen,” he whispered to Darcy in the cramped cubbyhole where they hid, slipping a lighterinto her hand, “I’m going to make a run for the front door, draw their fire. All you should need to do is set a flame to that amulet in the tripod. It’s not a good shot, but it’s all we got.”

“Do your plans always involve you running directly into the line of fire?” Darcy asked shakily.

“More often than I’d like,” he tried to grin at her. “On the count of three?”

“Wait,” she said, “there was something in the scroll. It might sound crazy but I might be able to…”

“Darcy,” said Steve firmly, “there is no way I’m gonna let you go out there with a plan based on an ancient scroll, alright?”

She nodded somewhat reluctantly.

“One,” he started.

“Wait,” she put a hand on his arm, “Before you…I just…I want to say thank you.”

“What?” Steve whispered back at her in surprise.

“I mean, we might be about to die,” she said with a shaky smile, “but I wouldn’t trade it. This, working with you, has been…I know I’ve been difficult, I can see you keeping your distance, but I…”

Maybe it was that there was a good chance that neither of them would live to face the consequences, maybe it was the way he recognized the fear and the thrill and the _importance_ in her expression as his own, or the way she had so thoroughly misunderstood his behavior, and maybe it was just an inevitability.

“You never should have got on that plane, sweetheart,” he mumbled, and then he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her. The taste of her on his lips, the soft sweetness of her mouth opening under his, the breathy noise that escaped as he pulled away gave him the surge of adrenaline he needed.

And he burst out of their hiding place, grabbing the shield of the ground and running across the aisle.

It went poorly right from the start. The bronze of the shield deflected the first shot, but the second one punched straight through the ancient metal and cut a stinging furrow across his thigh. He stumbled, and one of the henchman tackled Steve to the ground before he had even got three meters away.

Darcy did a little better, reaching the tripod and righting it, but she was in full view. Laufeyson could see that his goons had Steve under control and so Steve had to watch in slow horror as he turned, raised his gun and fired.

She spun in a half circle with the impact of the bullet, letting out only a small noise of surprise before she crumpled to the ground.

“No!” Steve couldn’t stop himself, he knew it was pointless, but he thrashed wildly at the man who held him down, connecting a lucky knee to the gut and scrambling away from him over to Darcy.

The bullet had gone through just inside of her left shoulder. There was so much blood, dark blood leaking out under Steve’s fingers in steady pulses. He could see Bucky slumped against the far wall, Natalia still lying unconscious and trapped under the heavy crate.

Well, he supposed that he knew he was going to die someday. There were worse reasons to go than trying to save Darcy Lewis.

Laufeyson was slowly walking towards them.

“Steve,” the thin whisper startled him and he looked down. Darcy’s eyes were open and, strangely, clear and focused.

“Shhhh,” he tried keeping pressure on her wound, “you’re gonna be fine. Don’t talk.”

“Steve,” she said again, more forcefully this time, “whatever happens, just keep your eyes closed.”

Steve raised a quizzical eyebrow, but then Laufeyson was there.

“Fortunately, Ms. Lewis, you yourself are not essential, but I will have your amulet before I leave you.”

“You,” she called up to him in a surprisingly strong voice, “shall have nothing.” She was pulling herself to her feet. Steve didn’t know how she was doing it. He did his best to help her up, one arm under her shoulders, the other still trying to apply pressure.

“Darcy…” he began.

“Now Steve!” was all she said to him.

Having no better options, he shut his eyes tightly. The voice that came from her was still _hers_ , but somehow larger, filling up the room so he thought his ears would burst.

“Ἀπόλλων ἀθήητος συ ἐνθανατόω”**

He felt a fire racing through his arms where they touched Darcy, and he fought the urge to open his eyes with every fiber of his being. The room howled like a hurricane was passing through. He heard Laufeyson and his men scream in anguish and still he kept his grip on Darcy and his eyes tight shut.

Finally, the storm passed and he felt Darcy collapse against him. He flung open his eyes. Loki and his men had disappeared without a trace.

“The amulet,” Darcy croaked.

He saw that there was a blindingly bright flame burning in the tripod. Without hesitation, he ripped the amulet from her neck, it came away freely now, and tossed it in the flame. There was a flash of light that was blinding, and then all at once the flame went out, leaving the amulet smoking but unharmed in the tripod.

A slow smile crossed Darcy’s face.

“It’s gone,” she whispered.

“Darcy…” Steve started, “what the hell…”

“Plan based on an ancient scroll,” she managed a weak smile up at him, “worked out okay, right?”

And then her eyes fell shut and she went limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations, with very little attention paid to proper grammer :) 
> 
> * ἐνσωμάτωσις - pronounced (loosely) “ensomatosis”, meaning “incarnation” or “embodiment”.  
> ^ “excuse me, sir.”  
> ^^ “Your passport, sir.”  
> ** Ἀπόλλων ἀθήητος συ ἐνθανατόω - pronounced “Appolon athetos su enthanato”, meaning “appollo who may not be beheld condems you to death.”


	5. Epilogue - Reims, France

His back was killing him from two nights spent dozing in a hospital chair. He had refused any treatment beyond a hasty bandaging of the bullet graze on his thigh. And once it had become clear that Nat and Bucky were just fine, he had been sitting here, waiting for her to wake up.

It was well into the third day when she finally came to, eyes fluttering open and letting out a sharp hiss as she tried to move.

Steve sat up abruptly.

“Darcy?” he pulled his chair closer to the bed.

“Ow,” she said, falling back against the pillows.

Steve managed a half grin, “Getting shot’ll do that.”

He had really managed to mess things up for her, hadn’t he? The faster he got out of her life, the better.

“How ya feeling kid?” he tried in a falsely chipper tone.

“Like I’ve been shot,” Darcy deadpanned back. “Nat and Bucky?”

“Just fine,” Steve reassured her, “Nat’s currently trying to convince Bucky to take it easy. It’s going about as well as you’d expect.”

Darcy smiled.

“Well,” said Steve, feeling like quick and clean was probably the best approach. For who, he wasn’t really sure, because he could already feel the pain of it roiling in his gut. “Now that you’re awake and it seems as though your brain is largely intact, Stark’ll be angling to get you back to work probably sometime tomorrow.” He stood up gingerly, brushing off his pants, uncomfortably aware that they were the same pair he had been wearing when he brought her in here. “So I’ll see when they can transport you back state side.”

“Steve,” Darcy was looking at him with something between frustration and apprehension, “are you really just going to walk away?”

“What do you mean?” he tried innocently.

She just raised an eyebrow at him, and cut her eyes over to the discarded bloody shirt he had been wearing when she was shot, the debris of brief and perfunctory meals eaten by her bedside.

“Looks like you haven’t gone anywhere for a while…and back in the warehouse…I just thought that maybe…” she trialed off, color rising in her cheeks. She looked sad in a way that Steve really didn’t like.

He sighed, settling back down on the chair. “Jesus, Darce, I’ve known you three weeks and you’ve been possessed and shot. My record’s not so great where you’re concerned.”

“I work for Stark, Rogers,” she said with a small grin, “you’re not so bad.”

He looked back at her with an incredulous smile. She sounded a lot like she meant it.

He paused for a moment, the thought of walking out that door forcing him to think about all the things that he had been avoiding.

On the one hand, he knew that putting her in dangerous situations would always terrify him. On the other hand, he knew exactly how angry she would get if she knew he was trying to protect her against her will. And, come to think of it, he felt a fair amount of anger at the old men back at the museum that had kept her out of the field for so long. How was he any different, right now?

Ultimately, though, his choice was pretty simple. The thought of going on a dig without her at his side yelling at him about proper procedure was simply unthinkable, now that he had thought about it.

“Well,” he said slowly, “having you on digs would really cut down on funding paperwork, since you do work directly for the Stark foundation.”

A smile was flirting around the corner of her lips.

“And I suppose your research skills aren’t _terrible_ ,” added Darcy, “I think I could put up with you if it means being allowed out in the field.”

“You know,” said Steve, his bravado carrying him through, “It wouldn’t do anything good for your reputation to be out in the middle of nowhere with crews of rough men.”

“And barely civilized archaeologists?” Darcy said with a grin, looking up at him “I suppose we could form a…partnership of sorts, if it’s the only way I can get out into the field.”

“I suppose I could handle that,” said Steve evenly, “if it means easier access to Stark’s money.”

“It’s a deal,” said Darcy, holding out her hand to him.

He took it in his, it was small and strong, and he never wanted to let it go.

He took a breath, and took a chance.

“I suppose I might as well tell you,” he said gruffly, “if we’re going to be business partners, that I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

“Oh,” said Darcy with a sort of blank look of shock on her face.

“Oh?” Steve echoed with a raised eyebrow, “is that all you can…” and then he couldn’t say anything at all because she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him of her own free will for the very first time.

It wasn’t that the other time Steve had kissed her hadn’t been memorable, far from it, but the way she pulled at his lips with her teeth, the way that she pressed her tongue into his willing mouth, the way her hand slid around his neck and her fingers pressed into the skin of his shoulders made him think that he may, in fact, be in way over his head with Darcy Lewis.

He pulled back, grinning broadly at the flushed and wanton look on her face.

“So,” she said a bit breathlessly, “How do you feel about Egypt in the spring?”

“What?” Steve asked a bit absently, busy tracing his fingers across the soft curve of her neck.

“Stark has a dig planned in Khartoum. Supposedly no one else will touch it because the tomb is cursed,” one hand reached up and she laid her fingers over his, entangling their fingers.

“Ancient Egyptian curses huh?” said Steve, pulling her hand to his mouth and brushing his lips across her knuckles, “sounds like fun.”

“Of course,” said Darcy, “I’m going to need a few weeks of rest to recover before we head out.” She looked up at him with perfectly innocent eyes as she dropped her hand to his chest and slowly pressed lower and lower down the buttons of his shirt.

Definitely way over his head.

He grinned roguishly. “That can be arranged,” he murmured low, before pressing her back against the pillows of the hospital bed, braced above her carefully to avoid her injury, but kissing her like he might drown if he didn’t.

“Steve,” she said breathlessly a few moment later, “you know that I…I never thought I’d find anyone to…but you…”

He quite liked her ineloquent and at a loss for words, if only because she was never short of them otherwise and it was him that had her babbling and breathless.

“I know,” he said, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Just promise me one thing, okay?”

“Anything.”

“You gotta get off my case about those damn potsherds,” he almost managed it with a straight face.

“What? You know _perfectly well_ that the classification of sherds is the _only_ way to properly date…”

He couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing at the indignation on her face.

“You’re terrible,” she said grumpily, with a halfhearted swat at his arm.

“I know,” he settled beside her on the bed with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Steve?” she said after a moment.

“Hmmm?”

“This time, I think it’s your turn to get the ancient curse, okay?”

 _This,_ he thought to himself as he laughed and turned to kiss her, _is going to be a hell of a lot of fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!! This thing was obnoxiously fun to write. Those of you who previously identified the Elizabeth Peters - ness of this will definitely recognise a few more pulls from that series, which is awesome and should be read by all. Hope you enjoyed this tropey, fluffy mess of an AU!

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, you have no idea how much fun this thing was to write. It's all complete. There are bits an pieces in later chapters that I'm mucking around with, but I can promise that updates will be very regular. Shocking, I know :)


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